Jaded Pill
by BAI-da
Summary: He has returned from a five year mission under Frieza's watchful eye, rightfully following his father's footsteps. She is a palace concubine with a secret that could shake the mightiest walls of class prejudice. Apart, they become One. AU, BV, R&R please
1. Preface

**She's a working girl, selling her company to make ends meet, never reaching that nirvana of accomplishment.**

**He is a man of influence that studies and trains to be better than he is, in turn, bettering his people and their planet. **

**Together they will inadvertently create the change their world so desperately yearns for, and release their kind from under the slavery and persuasive strength of alien forces.**

**-----------------------------------------------**

**Jaded Pill**

Preface.

On many worlds, civil stations are often separated with the division of wealth and poverty. It is often presumed that the civility and the particular nature of a persons worth is based on the factor of money. If you are rich, than you are privileged. If you are poor, than you are useless. If you are middle-classed, than you are expected to work the jobs the wealthy won't do and poor can't. It is no different on any other civilized planet, with any other accommodating nation, with any other courteous people, and with any other diplomatic and created laws. These stations are expected to be performed to the utmost certainty, with the assumption that no one can deny their station and become apart of any other class that is better than their own.

It is no different on the planet of Vegeta. Within the Saiyan race - the inhabitants of Vegeta - there are four expected stations. The most promised and pure of all is that of the Valaska (va·la·skaw). In this class sits the king and his family, followed by grand nobles and super elite fighters. The people of planet Vegeta who are not privileged to be of pure-blood decent often aspire to be, and as children often play as such.

The Dedrites (ded·rights) are the next station, housing the elite fighters and first class warriors. These are off-world fighters who frequently handle planetary war and negotiations with direct order from the king. Being second in class gives them certain privileges that aren't available to those lower in station than they are, but they aren't given the luxuries as those in higher, or with more influential power.

The Molasquaw (ma·law·skaw) is a disrespected tribe, but certainly not the most degraded. In this group alone sits the second class warriors, the handlers of civil matters, or matters of the state. This group is a dying one, and soon it will no longer be written that the Molasquaw are to fight and control the civil wars throughout the countries of planet Vegeta.

The most disgraceful and feeble race amongst all Saiyans is the tribe of the Cha'oronee (cha·o·row·nay): the third class warriors that couldn't even be regarded as such, or even as true Saiyans. They are the crop holders, water gatherers, and hard laborers of the entire planet. The only time the planet's Council calls upon them is for their necessary assistance in universal war and planet purges. The Cha'oronee are considered the deformities that plague the society, with solid pigment changes in their hair and eye color, which gives reason to believe they are not Saiyan at all.

_-----------_

_Author's Note:_ _Okay, so I'm trying this story again, but this time around it has a new title. If you read the next chapter, you'll notice that the chapter title is this same as the story title. I titled the chapter before I renamed the story, so that's the reason behind that. Anyway, I hope you like this. And more chapters coming soon._

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything from DBZ._


	2. Prologue A Prophecy's Rebirth

**-----------------------------------------**

**She's a working girl, selling her company to make ends meet, never reaching that nirvana of accomplishment.**

**He is a man of influence that studies and trains to be better than he is, in turn, bettering his people and their planet. **

**Together they will inadvertently create the change their world so desperately yearns for, and release their kind from under the slavery and persuasive strength of alien forces.**

**-----------------------------------------**

**Jaded Pill**

Prologue. A Prophecy's Rebirth.

It was late afternoon on planet Vegeta and the weather at the moment was of a rare occurrence. The heavens rumbled with the cries of the tortured and the acid rain falling spoke stories of death. And the sky was as black as the ebony marble floors of the palace in which he stood.

The young prince walked the halls of the palace with the priest of the shrine of VA. They stopped at a large window, the eye to the world outside. "What strange weather we're having," he said, his voice dripping with the wonder any boy his age should have. Never in his six years of life had he seen anything such as this. The planet had its share of odd weather with the passing seasons, byt never has a rain storm produced chunks of ice that fell from the sky or light that shook the ground when it struck.

"Yes, it is. You know, my prince, it is said that rare weather such as the ice and acid rain we are having now is a sign from the heavens and Va himself. It's the proof of a prophecy being fulfilled, or reborn," the old priest told his future king; that is, should he live long enough to see him ascend to the throne. It was time for his young prince's daily lessons in the palace's private shrine, learning from the books written centuries before his cardinalship of the VA religion.

"Prophecy?" the prince looked at the short man, hunched over his walking stick, before staring out over his kingdom once again. The light from the sky stretched across the heavens, heading south toward the mountains, as it let loose a savage cry of the damned.

"Yes, my prince, a prophecy. It means a prediction of what is to come. On the day you were born the sky was much like this, pouring the acid tears of those killed for peace and war. It was written long ago that the first born of the three-and-one-tenth son would become the Legendary. You are the first born of the three-and-one-tenth son, my prince," he said, pride swimming in his voice. _Once he becomes the Legendary, _he thought to himself, _our people will have been saved once again. _

"But then what do the books say of today?" the prince asked, curiosity dripping from his words. He knew he would become the Legendary; it was instilled into him everyday. _"You will train to be strong. You will train to be powerful. You will train to be king. But most of all, you will train to become the Legendary!" _Ever since he could remember his father, his trainers, his teachers, and his people have fed him the same speech, always relentless in their pursuit. He knew he had no choice than to become the Legendary. He knew also that with the obligation of becoming the Legendary he had the responsibility to protect his people from all that threatened their planet and their way of life.

"I am not entirely sure I know, my prince. Why don't we head to the shine libraries and do some research. I'm quite curious myself," the head priest spoke calmly, a small smile playing on his wrinkled lips. It was most certainly an understatement when he said he was proud of his young prince. This boy in front of him was without a doubt the most intelligent person he had taught throughout his years of allegiance to the throne and to Va. Already, at the age of six, the prince has made intricately detailed battlefield strategies, all of which this priest has found lying around the libraries of the shrine. _He is young, _the priest thought, _and with his age comes curiosity, but he will be wiser beyond his years in a matter of time._

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A scream ripped through the small metal shack that echoed with the weather from outside. The shack would illuminate with the light that shot across the sky, and the walls would moan with the loud whine of the heavens. Another scream rebounded around the one room home, followed by a piercing cry.

The woman lying in the small bed breathed heavily, her body stretched and burning in the cold air. The tall, burly man wrapped a thick blanket around the small child his wife had just bore him, whipped the blood from the miniature face, and handed the tiny bundle to his mate. He watched as she slowly raised her arms, weakly taking the new addition to her family. "We have a baby girl," he quietly told the mother of his child as he climbed to the floor to sit next to the bed. He watched as her face beamed when he mentioned it, and he knew she was beyond happy. For months she had been telling him that their first child would be a girl-she had told him "a mother knows"-but he wouldn't believe it. He heard her laugh as she watched the child's face scrunch up and listened as the quite whimpers escaped her throat.

"Anello?" she whispered towards her mate, never once moving her eyes away from the child in her arms.

"Yes," he said as he ran the index finger of his left hand down his daughter's face. She relaxed in her mother's arms as his finger moved down her nose.

"She needs a name, Anello," she spoke calmly, a new sense of pride evident in her voice. For months she had thought of names for her unborn child, both male and female, but now that her daughter was settled in her arms she knew it was time to finally choose. None, however, seemed to fit. She though hard as they lay there, but her mind always trailed back to her original list.

"What about... Bulma?" he mentioned to his wife. It seemed suitable for his daughter. As his mate pushed out his child he noticed the fuzz of violet hair on the tail just above the child's rear end. Violets, blues, and many other cool colors weren't common on any Saiyan, Cha'oronee or not. Of course, his daughter wasn't only Cha'oronee.

"'Angel'... it's perfect," she told her husband, finally looking at him. Bulma meant 'angel' in the Saiyan tongue. The faint blue fuzz on her daughter's round head was evident that it was just right. Blue, dark or not, was often used in the palace for the garments of the queen as it's commonly associated with the Devine. The queen, in all of her quiet wisdom, was willing to put herself out to her people and help them as best as her influence would allow. For that, the weak and incredibly poor members of society classified her as an angelic and Devine being.

Anello kissed his mate softly on her forehead, his dry lips sucking up the remains of her sweat. He rested his forehead against hers, and rubbed the tip of his nose from the side of hers and up to her finely trimmed left eyebrow. Anello smiled, which was rare indeed, but for the first time in his life he was truly happy. _When she is old enough, _he began to think, _I will train her, and she will become the strongest female alive. _"She has your nose," he told his wife, running his finger down his daughter's tiny nose once again.

"And your strength, my love, for her energy is strong; much stronger than mine what I was born," she spoke softly, hoping that this moment would last forever.

"Listen," Anello spoke, "the rain, it's slowing down." He looked at his daughter as he said this, and watched as a smile broke across her small, round face.

"I think you're the cause of this, my little angel," she whispered to her daughter, observing how her daughter snuggled further into the blanket. She stared at her husband's profile before he looked at her. "Thank you, Anello, for this gift," she told him as she stole a glance down at her daughter once more, only to look at her husband.

"And thank you, my love," he said as he lightly kissed her temple. They both watched their daughter for several hours after that, content in the growing silence that started to surround them.

_---------_

_4 years later_

He walked up to the throne and bowed low to his father. The king had summoned him to the throne room this morning, wanting the young prince to meet the only elite fighter that had gained the respect of the king. He stood on the right of the king, stifling a yawn as he stepped into his spot. He knew the king had noticed; the king was aware of everything he did, no matter how trivial it may have been. He never got along with his father because of that reason, and that reason alone. He respected his father, for his father pressed him to become stronger, to become the Legendary, but he knew at his young age that his father was a poor ruler. He would wait calmly until he took the throne, and he will be the strongest king his people have ever known.

Suddenly his mind hit on something:

"_Six years hence the arrival of the Legendary,_

_an angel shall walk this empty earth._

_A union will be found between the Strong Ones,_

_and a death and rebirth shall Awaken."_

The prince blinked. Why was he thinking about that old prophecy now? There was no immediate reason to it.

He had not time to comprehend it, for at that moment a guard walked in and announced the arrival of the elite guard who had left the palace over four years ago. The prince had met Anello before he had resined from his duty ship towards the king. He has overheard on several occasions since then, that Anello, once the head soldier of all elites in the palace, had settled down with a mate that had bore him a child.

"My lord, my king, it is wonderful to see you again," Anello spoke loudly, his voice echoing throughout the hall. He bowed majestically, his body giving a dance of allegiance to his king and prince.

"I am just as happy to see you, my old friend. I must ask, are the palace rumors true? Have you a mate and child?" the king said, hunching forward and resting his elbows on his knees, his hands hanging loosely from his wrists between his legs.

Anello stood in front of his king, a feeling of pride engulfing his entire being. He had never actually spoken to his king, or to anyone from his past, about his life-mate and child. "I was unaware of rumors spreading, but yes, your majesty, they are very true. I took on a life-mate immediately after I put in my resignation from the palace guard, and soon after, she bore me a child; a little girl."

"I see. It's a little late for felicitations, but I give you my sentiments, my friend. A father's pride is overwhelming when knowing that his own flesh and blood is the keeper of his own legacy," the king spoke as if he truly believed in what he was saying.

The young prince scoffed inside, remaining stoic on the out. He couldn't believe what he was hearing his own father say. He couldn't remember a time in his short life when his father actually looked at him with pride, as opposed to an overbearing amount of hatred.

"If I may have permission to speak, sire, why have I been summoned here? The letter you sent was a little vague on the matter," Anello bowed while speaking.

"Ah yes, of course. It's always right to the point with you, isn't it, Anello?" the king chuckled. "I called you here because I have reached as far as I can possibly go with the people I have staffed. You were always the devil's advocate, and I'm afraid I need someone like you again. I would like for you to return to the palace and work under me once more. We have confrontations arising in the west, and since it is part of our domains, we need to take immediate care of the problem at hand. It would be temporary, of course, as I don't wish to remove you permanently from your assumed retirement, but I would consider this a great courtesy to myself and many innocent lives. The debt could never truly be repaid."

The king had always been a frank man, straight to the point when political situations were concerned. Anello looked to floor only to think of his family, trying to find the perfect solution, knowing full well there wasn't one. He took another moment to study to thing. He prayed very often for something like this to happen; a reason to return to the palace. But his wife and daughter would never vie for something like this, both of them being different from the pure bloods in the palace, like himself. He looked up towards his king and friend for many years, and sighed a deep, heavy sigh. "I am certainly and most profoundly sorry, my king, for the answer you will no doubt wish to reject. As much as I appreciate the offer, and am willing to return to active duty, I must think, first and foremost, of my family. I would not be with them very often if I were to return, and I have promised my one and only child that I would train her, and I alone," Anello said cautiously, fearful of the king's reaction. His king has killed a man on a lesser token than that.

The king sat there for a moment, thinking of what to do. He was upset, certainly, that his friend refused his offer, and desperately fought the urge to beg him to reconsider, but he respected his former guard's decision. Anello had always been a very just man, pledging undying allegiance to one thing, and one thing only at any given time. The king sighed in defeat. "Very well, my friend, I will let you spend the rest of your days with your family. However, I will keep in touch with current political affairs like I have been, and you will be expected to fight in the universal war that is sure to come."

"Thank you, my lord."

"Anello, you are dismissed." The man before him bowed in a deep gesture of gratitude and of loyalty, only to turn and disappear into the deep and empty halls. "You will be missed, old friend," the king whispered into the air.

Prince Vegeta left the thrown room as soon as Anello had left and headed towards the training grounds outside the main palace, personal guard following close behind. His mind still wrestled with the short, old poem, but was willing to get it out of him and beat it out of others within the next several hours.

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_Author's Note: I rewrote this chapter because I wanted to. I wanted people to be surprised when the time came, which won't be for a while. Anyway, next chapter coming soon._

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything from DBZ._


	3. Chapter I Jaded Pill

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**She's a working girl, selling her company to make ends meet, never reaching that nirvana of accomplishment.**

**He is a man of influence that studies and trains to be better than he is, in turn, bettering his people and their planet. **

**Together they will inadvertently create the change their world so desperately yearns for, and release their kind from under the slavery and persuasive strength of alien forces.**

**----------------------------------**

**Jaded Pill**

Chapter I. Jaded Pill.

The sun sat high in the brilliant blue sky, bleeding heated agony onto the land below. The day was hotter than many of the summer days the inhabitants of planet Vegeta endured, but it was certainly nothing they couldn't handle. The market place of Vai Ren, capital city and long-since kingdom of the planet, bustled with the afternoon traffic of shoppers, the obvious stench of sweat hovering around them in a thick blanket. All of which never bothering the current of the people, worker and shopper alike.

She walked through the crowded streets, the bag she once carried at her side now snug between her arms and bosom. Never the modest person, she didn't burrow the bag there out of a prude nature, but to have it simply stated, her arms were tired. She noticed, as she walked through the streets, the eyes that lay upon her; they always seemed to find her in the crowd. The clouded, lustful stared of a married man or single boy with the wishful thought of a hefty romp in the tousled blankets of their beds. The hostile, jealous glares of the wives, lovers, or single and envious women on the streets. In the four long years since her coming-of-age ceremony she has become more aware of those around her and their personal intentions, making friends with only a few and often of another race, or creed.

She could see her housing building rise up slowly as she made her way downhill, the crowds of people beginning to diminish gradually with the further she got from the center of the city. She felt dirty all over, certainly nothing short from a common sensation. Leaving the city square always made her feel unsightly to those around her, though she knew from the variety of stares she received seemed to prove otherwise. She walked in front of her housing building, pausing just outside the front door. She couldn't help recall her unfortunate circumstances in coming here. But here, everyone has a story.

She walked through the front door of the large faded building turned yellow from age and the pollution that has settled over the city. She brushed her hair from her eyes, finding her long locks to be even more frustrating than she once imagined. The high counter in the front room made the image of this building seem to be a business, which in so many ways it was.

"Hello, and welcome," the woman behind the counter chimed in a sophisticated tone, until she looked up to glance at who had entered their building. "Oh, it's only you Bulma. Welcome back. You have six tonight, and you start early. Right after dinner, actually." She didn't say the words in any sort of professional tone, nor did she seem pleased to read off the information. Happiness was a luxury that they just didn't have.

Bulma sighed. Six. Her average has been a roller coaster since she arrived to the big city. She walked through the door that separated the lobby from the housing and lazily walked up the two flights to her private room. Private rooms were necessary in the conduct she and her fellow housing mates indulged in.

She opened the door to her unlocked, one room apartment, placing her bag on the bed before tearing into it. She pulled out several yards of fabric, all of different colors, shades, and textures. If she was good at one thing it was making clothing for herself. She unfolded a specific yard of green fabric. Opening it up to reveal a pair of cutting shears, a small mirror and a simple box. She picked up th box, holding it in her hands for a brief moment before walking to her dresser and stuffing the box under a pile of a clothes in the bottom drawer. She unzipped the emerald green dress she was wearing and letting it slip freely from her body. She picked up the towel and placed the scissors and paper-wrapped mirror in between the folds of the towel before holding it securely to her stomach as she left the room.

Bulma walked the halls of the building naked, as she had done seveal times before, and headed for the community bath just behind the housing development to wash the smells of the day from her body. She didn't have to look around her to her that the women filling the halls were staring at her. Not only did the people outside of the building feel the need to gape at her for which ever reason they were, but her housing mates probed her as well. She held her head high, learning from years of torture by those around her that their feelings were their own, and hers.

She washed alone. It became a habit by now to wash by herself and to not pay any attention to the women around her engaged in heavy dialogue. Yet their glares did not cease in the comforts of the heated water. As soon as she was finished bathing she walked out of the bath, the towel again at her belly. She quickly concealed herself behind a bathhouse stall, knowing full well that no one would notice her there. She unfolded the towel and placed the two items carefully on the ground, then stood to wrap the towel around her chilled body. Regardful of what was in the brown wrapping, she unwrapped the small mirror from its keep and sat it on the stand that jutted from the dark wood of the stall wall. Taking the shears in her fingers, she scrupulously began cutting at her hair, taking small chunk by small chunk in her free hand. In no time at all, her hair, which had originally fell to the middle of her back, now was shoulder length and even to an exact point around her head. She picked up the mirror and shears, as well as the disregarded hair, and headed towards the door of the bathhouse. Eyes landed on her once again as she left the building, but they weren't malevolent glares, but instead confused stares. Her hair was always regarded tastefully because it's peculiar color and it's long length.

She walked into her room, shutting her door quickly. An odd sensation overwhelmed her senses as she walked down the halls that led her back to her bed: humiliation. Nothing in the past three years made her feel so uncomfortable as this had. She thought maybe it had been a bad idea to cut her hair, but she felt the need for a minor change in her life. She ran her hand through her damp locks, finding her fingers coming up short. It was not a bad idea and no one would make her believe otherwise. Never humble, she knew she was as beautiful as ever, and she would prove so to her clients tonight. Besides, in her business, beauty was an asset, not a necessity.

The remainder of the day had passed quickly for Bulma, and she could only assume so for the other women as well. She had chose not to dress after her bath, so she gathered her dinner nude, as many of the other girls did. She ate quickly as the sight of daylight slowly drifted away with the sun just beyond the horizon, giving way to the night. Moments after she had finished her dinner and slid her tray under her bed, a harsh knock landed on the other side of her bed. There was no need for a reply. She stood up from the bed as a large man walked in, bearing the crest of the palace on the right pectoral of his armor. She grabbed as much of his thick wrist that she could and led him into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

_------------------------------_

_Author's Note: You'll notice that the chapter title is the same as the story title. I wrote and titled the chapter after I decided to rename the actual story. Anyway, just a warning before you continue - the next several chapters are a constant continuation of the previous chapter. It won't change until chapter 8. Why? Well, when I was writing this chapter I never split it into separate chapters. So there's an explanation for you. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own any Dragon Ball characters. All other created characters that are named in this story are mine. _


	4. Chapter II Where Sin Breathes

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**She****'s a working girl, selling her company to make ends meet, never reaching that nirvana of accomplishment. **

**He is a man of influence that studies and trains to be better than he is, in turn, bettering his people and their planet. **

**Together they will inadvertently create the change their world so desperately yearns for, and release their kind from under the slavery and persuasive strength of alien forces.**

**--------------------------------**

**Jaded Pill**

Chapter II. Where Sin Breathes.

She unhooked his chest plate and removed it from his body, dropping ti carelessly to the floor. As she ran her hands down his rather large chest to the remaining piece of his armor she took the chance to examine his eyes, glazed over with the lust every man that came to her had. She looked away quickly and continued with her duty. She could already hear the grunts of pleasure just down the hall as she removed the groin armor the military man wore. The men knew that when coming here, the standard-issue spandex was not an option as it was too difficult for the ladies to remove and far too time consuming, so they were asked to part with it at the door of the whore's room they were about to lay with. Bulma too took his large member in her hand, which was beginning to grow in size. This was a precaution all the women were supposed to perform to get their customer hard enough to enter, not allowing any liability to any of the men, or any of the whores. Once stiff enough, she laid herself onto her bed, spreading her legs wide enough for him to lie atop her to pleasure himself. Out of habit, she looked away from his face and stared at the wall. Just because she was there for the men's pleasure did not mean she was to be pleasured herself. It being customary with this line of business, then men were to leave as soon as their ejaculation had occurred. There were no bylaws stated for the woman's pleasure, so either way, the woman would be paid. They would receive their tip from the individual, and the down payment went to the Hostess of the building.

As soon as the man removed himself from her and stood up, he put his armor back on and slipped a few coins onto her night stand. She watched as he opened the door and put on his spandex shorts, closing the door behind him without a second glance. She felt no remorse as he left: not for her actions, not for his aloofness.

The hours passed and more men came and left, in a cycle that seemed painfully endless and the ritual, dull. She shrugged off the nights actions just as she always had, and gathered herself up. She stood at the prison window that had rusted open years before her time. She continued to listen to the cries of passionate sex that filtered through the thin walls, and echoed in from the whore houses of the red district. Many of the women she had met in the past several years have actually enjoyed what they do; they have boasted about the men they have slept with, always recounting the most amazing.

The rush of cool morning air awoke her body from the trance it was in, every inch of her skin responding. She noticed the sun as it began to peek over from behind the mountain range in the distance, slowly stretching it's life over the peaks and flooding the city that went on for miles. In any other part of the kingdom this would be a million dollar view: the roofs of the buildings just grazing your eyesight as the city went on and disappeared in the distance, the palace in all it's grandeur sparkling in the early sun as if to awaken it's subjects, a nearly perfect shot of the exact center of this part of the city with the sculpted fountain commanding attention.

She was startled from her sleep by the loud buzzing of the intercom that fed directly into her room from the main entry. "Yes, what is it!" she bellowed through the sleep that clogged her throat.

"Is this Ankita, the owner of this business?" a small voice penetrated the static.

"Yes, yes, what do you want so damn early!"

"I am a palace messenger and I have an urgent message from the king," was all he said, and she was out the door of room in a matter of seconds, her robe floating around her.

She ran into the foyer, regaining her composure in a less than accepting manner. "Yes, hello, I'm Ankita. You said something about, a message? From the king?"

The petite humanoid bowed and handed her an envelope with the royal seal. She snatched it from his hands and turned from him, as if to say that their conversation was over.

She tore open the envelope, ignoring the delicately placed wax seal. In passing she realized that the palace was a little old-fashioned. She read the calligraphy:

_To the proprietor of this business; _

_Due to unfortunate circumstances, we are in search for _

_an immediate and necessary replacement for our _

_Majesty's harem. A member of our Majesty's Court will _

_arrive promptly on the ninth hour of the day to view you _

_finest selection of ladies. Please have them ready and _

_prepared for viewing by the time he arrives. _

_Please note that if we fail to find a suitable replacement _

_and are forced to look elsewhere, then your business _

_will no longer receive the patronage of you King, or the _

_members of His Court. _

_Our Majesty thanks you for you assistance in this time of _

_haste. _

_Signed, _

_Valooge ti Iiman-o_

_Upholder of Civil Relations of the planet of Vegeta_

_in the Empire of Cold_

The lines of her face softened and her entire being seemed to beam as bright as the morning sun. "'Bout time!" She hadn't been the Royal Court's 'official' supplier of women for very long, so she had yet to receive a letter such as this one. One of her ladies. Her's. If the King found his new whore to his liking, then 'Ankita's Emporium of Palace-Worthy Whores' would become a reality. She knew she had become a business-woman for a reason. She gathered herself and rushed from the room.

She had to wake her finest girls. "Wake? Who am I kidding."

A heavy pounding landed on her door, jostling her from her enduring trance. Before giving the intruder a response, Ankita, the woman who owned her body for the next three years, burst through.

"Bulma, get dressed. Wear something presentable to greet the Palace Representative," Ankita paused. There was something, different about her, she just couldn't quite place her finger... "What happened to your hair?"

Bulma shrugged, the other woman's obvious distaste of the situation had gone all but unnoticed. "I cut it," the indifference bleeding from her words.

"Really? Could've guessed that myself. Question is: why? It was your best asset. Your only asset."

Bulma heaved a sigh, expecting this reaction from the overbearing, stocky slave-owner. "What do you want Ankita," she spoke, changing the subject.

Ankita rolled her eyes. "Look your best this morning. At nine a Palace Representative will be here to fawn over my 'finest ladies.' It seems as though one has died, which I hear isn't uncommon if they have the chance bed the King. Oh, but that's just gossip!" she laughed haughtily, as if she were the one who started the rumor herself. Upon seeing as she was the only one amused, she turned on the other woman. "Be ready by eight!" she bellowed and slammed the door behind her.

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Oh the excitement," she whispered bitterly to the empty room as she walked from the window to her dresser. She began to rummage through her drawers to find the perfect dress, as if she wanted to knock the man dead. It was simple enough: win over the attendant with her looks, get inside the palace, and garner some sort of freedom.

As a working whore, she had one of two options: work for herself, or work for someone else. When she set out on this beaten path she called her life, she knew she needed any assurance of safety, so she had become an owned whore in her own naivety. In this business, your only protection is solely based on the patronage you receive. The more you get, the more you receive.

The next two hours passed by unimaginably slow, allowing nothing for Bulma to occupy herself with. After her bath she found little interest in anything. Not even sewing, which often calmed her, satisfied her lust for entertainment. She had decided against dressing immediately, knowing that if she waited the dress would wrinkle again after her straining to rectify that only an hour earlier.

She sat on the floor of her room, a box in her hands and her mind an array of jumbled thoughts, none of them inhabiting and laying in refuge there:

She hadn't been in this whore house for very long, but she was already bored with it. The women were dull and shallow, portraying this air of misplaced pride throughout the entire building. She had noticed while being here that the women never engaged in exhilarating conversation, it always being apprehensive gossip disguised as friendship. She never had a friend growing up so she had no real thing to compare it to, but she had decided that it would be nothing like this. Friendship had to be unassuming and beautifully unornamented, never about anxious, idle chitchat and pseudo-sincerity that was lavishly decorated by feint praise. But did she feel the need to act better than the rest and get accepted to the palace harem? Would she find what she was looking for in such a pretentious place? And just what was it she was looking for to begin with? She would be given the awkward security she yearned for since childhood, but would it be just another fallacy created by the assumed comfort of daily palace life? If taken to the citadel in her current position than that is all that she would ever remain, even during universal war: a whore. If she were to remain here, with Ankita, then in the time of disrupted peace she would be allowed to join the army. Nay, expected to join. But at the palace, would she be given that civil right that she trained for everyday while growing up? She had always been taught that her duty to King and Country was more important to her than her own being and self-preservation. Would that be excepted as reason enough for joining the military while under the palace's impersonal protection? If allowed to join, or expected to even under the palace's shadow, would she just be another unknown soldier who died a proud death for her King? Of course she would, but would anybody remember her? She had no family and no friends, and she didn't expect the latter to come into her life anytime soon, even if she did enter the palace under obvious circumstances. Her life meant nothing to no one, not even to herself. But what would happen if the royal court managed to discover her true self? Would they put her to death? It was something her parents should have done years ago upon her birth because an existence such as her own was unlawful, and punishable by execution. But if she were good enough, would they spare her? It was doubtful, but as long as no one knew, her life would be as much hers as it was their's with her secret still safely kept. Was that what she really wanted, or does she really want to die? She didn't exactly know what she wanted. Whether it was to live out her life owned by one house after another, or to be accepted in the palace with it's false care-giving. Or even, death.

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_Author's Note: Ankita's a pimp, yo. Anyway, I re-wrote this chapter while still keeping some of the original stuff I had in there to begin with. You'll notice that there's a difference between the writing style of the first few chapters, and the ending of this one. The dialogue moved a little faster in this than in the others, even though there was very little of it. I'm going to attempt to re-write all of the chapters while I'm typing them up. I'll keep some of the paragraphs the same because if I remember right, then there are a few that I'm proud of. I'll try to make it flow, though. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own nuttin'! _


	5. Chapter III Hypnotic Grace

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**She****'s a working girl, selling her company to make ends meet, never reaching that nirvana of accomplishment. **

**He is a man of influence that studies and trains to be better than he is, in turn, bettering his people and their planet. **

**Together they will inadvertently create the change their world so desperately yearns for, and release their kind from under the slavery and persuasive strength of alien forces.**

-------------------------

**Jaded Pill**

Chapter III. Hypnotic Grace.

There was a quiet hush throughout the mess hall, the one room in the building designed to hold a mass of people, often that of the women during their two supplied meals a day. She had to think why she decided it in her best interest to be in this room, at this moment, with these women who were waiting for the same thing she was. She was indifferent to sleeping with multiple men a night, but there certainly wasn't anything glamorous about what she was paid to do. Some of these women standing with her in this room would wholeheartedly protest.

Peeya (pay-ya), certainly beautiful in her own right, was nothing short of masculine. She often spent her daytime hours working out at the few gyms stationed near by. And as night would fall, she would have men calling on her if they wanted to sleep with a woman who could feed only their ego, not their lustful appetite. She never complained, as she boasted to the other girls that she could keep up with the most powerful of them. She often chimed to them that even elite soldiers would com to her room to assure the rumors were true. Peeya, though tall and thoroughly masculine, had long brown hair and a pretty face. Bulma was certain that Peeya, although well known in the area, would not be chosen as the next palace whore. It was a fact that the women in the King's harem were to be of perfect beauty.

Chiinaho (chee-na-ho) was certainly one of the pretties in the room. Her face was soft and pale, giving her a childish grace. Being pale creates the image of fragility, and Chiinaho radiated with it. She was not only pale, but she stood four feet and six inches, far below the average height of women on the planet. She trained her body everyday so as not to lose her life when enthraled in the heat of passion. However, she made quick attachments with her regular patrons, who at first find the naive charm of this small woman alluring, but when it becomes a nuisance for the men it often results in punishment. Beauty was only skin deep for women who sold their bodies, so abrasions adorning the skin were unacceptable, and yet she had her fair share of such. She would never be accepted into the palace harem because of her obvious faults.

The sound of the door shutting echoed through the hollowed room and the women turned to see Ankita bouncing toward them. "Okay ladies!" she barked, "the Palace Representative should be here any moment. You are to speak only when spoken to, and no staring at him. I don't want to have to clean up the mess your death will leave behind."

Bulma found it awkward how Ankita's round body fit into the dress she wore. The collar was low cut, showing off her cleavage as it spilled over the stitching. The corseted bodice strained as it molded over her bulging fat, instead of creating a perfect silhouetted frame. Her make-up was caked onto her plump face giving her the appearance of a jester of sorts. Her hair had been poorly placed in a popular up do, and the color of the fabric that decorated her nappy curls flushed out her red skin.

The doors to the room burst open as two palace guards walked into the room, followed by a lanky, finely dressed man in satin robes. He was obviously the officer of the palace. Ankita smiled and bowed to the man that entered her establishment. "Welcome, sir. My name is Ankita, and I run-"

"Yes, yes. Let's just skip the formalities, shall we. Are these the women here?" The man's words came out short and to-the-point, as if his doing this was a unnecessary complication of his day.

"Yes, sir, they are. My finest ladies, as the message had said."

"Good. Let's get this over quickly."

He stood in front of the line of ladies, all of whom had a beauty that rivaled the heavens. His scrupulous gaze hardened as he stepped in front of the ladies one by one, looking them up and down before moving onto the next one. He paused the one that nearly caught his attention when he had first walked into the room. She was of a striking excellence in which his King would never disapprove.

"You. What is your name," he asked her, his voice rolling off his tongue in a smooth countenance of emotion, it being a drastic change from his gruff demeanor from just moments before. He had never been distracted by such a radiance of beauty and belonging.

She did not smile at him, but her eyes pierced his own. "Bulma." She said it simply and with the habitual dejection she is accustomed to, mirroring his speech.

Her words were glassy and he was sent into a spiral of ecstasy. She had uttered but one word, one magnificent word, and already he had found himself with the lustful apatite to bed her. Being an officer to the King, he was glorified with the opportunity of satisfying his arousals by sleeping with his pick of the palace beauties. He rarely self-indulged in his pleasure, however, finding bedding a woman much too tiresome. He was a busy man.

"What a, perfect name." He was willing to indulge, just this once.

"Thank you," she purred, her polite acceptance flirting with his senses.

He turned to Ankita. "We will be taking her. Thank you for your hospitality," he stated simply. "Bulma," he paused as he looked into her unyielding eyes, "Take only what you can wear, and be outside in two minutes." With that said he stalked out of the room, the palace guards immediately on his heels.

She didn't hesitate. She swiftly moved through the halls, her mind racing. She was already wearing the aged dress her mother had sewn for her father's meager and unsuitable funeral. As the dutiful daughter she was, she rushed the dresser and dug for her family crest, nestled safely in its antiqued keep. As she left her room and entered the hall, she placed the pendant around her neck. The chain was long enough to hide the pendant as she tucked the reflection of her family history into her dress to be cradled between her breasts, silently cowering beneath her shame and self-reproach of her renounced father.

The palace spokesperson watched on in worship as Bulma exited the building. The dress she hadn't changed out of was an old-fashioned cut, yet seemed to flaunt her foreign appearance. The collar of the dress fell low, kissing her bosom in a soft kiss of fabric. It's length grazed the filthy, sordid ground, and his mind ached with the kings obvious agreement of his choice. The faded white fabric danced around her from empire waist dress, the thin fabric falling away from the taught stitching just under her breasts. Her sleeves flowed in a controlled freedom from her shoulders, her milky skin catching glimpses of the sun as she moved. Bulma appeared to fit the summer months as if she were the summer goddess, Vinda'ai (vin-da-ai), herself. "Well miss, you are impeccable in your beauty," he declared in sincerity as he took her hand and helped her into his open carriage. The people of the city delighted in witnessing the new palace concubine enter the iron gates, often with underlying jealousy because it was not they who were to be greeting their King such a semi-private manner.

"Thank you," she managed, realizing, as if for the first time, how high the sweltering temperatures of a mid-summer afternoon on the planet of Vegeta could actually soar. Although the thin dress allowed plenty of room for her naked legs to breathe, she nevertheless found it unbearable hot under the boiling sun as sweat trickled down her bare skin. She noticed with hidden eys the movements of Venrahi as he sat across from her, his legs carelessly brushing against her own. She listened as he struck the side of their finely decorated, esorhe (ee-sore-hee)-drawn carriage while readjusting herself to fit more comfortably on the unfamiliar seat. The jerk of the wagon surprised her to the effect of her opening her eyes, and she glanced around at the usual city scenery. She noticed the palace guards that had entered Ankita's place only moments before as they briskly walked along on either side of the carriage, their stoic features set in stone along with length of their bodies, altering their learned behavior for only a brief moment to shout at the onlookers to clear away from their projected path. The dead wind left a humid aftertaste in the air as she began a silent and desperate plea for cool air; an abject attempt to fan herself with her sticky hands. She was whisked away to a forgotten time through her small action, observing her memory in soundless musing. A heavy hand landed upon her knee, ordering her thoughts from her forgotten past as she looked onto Venrahi's face.

"Here," he spoke through smiling teeth and held out his whicker fan for her use. "We're almost to the palace, but you are more than welcome to use it until our arrival." He was bewitched by her movements as she graciously reached out her hand. The brush of her fingers against his palm swallowed his mind into an upheaval of imagined celebrations of her beneath him. He watched her as she fanned herself, rotating her head in circles along her shoulders and dabbing at the sweat that had collected at the nape of her neck. Her exotic hair clung to her face and wrapped along the length of her neck, hiding from the thrusts of her hands as they thwarted off the sweat. He stated with anticipation for her next refusing touch along her neck and bare shoulders, his perverse imaginings wracking his mind and body for a taste of her. She did this to torture his thoughts and his reflecting body, of this he was positive. No woman had ever captured his consciousness in such a demanding and overpowering manner to the point where he no longer wished to fight against the natural instincts of a man in the presence of such a beautiful woman.

The trolley slowed to a short trot, the gallop of the two esorhe soft upon the cobblestone of the streets. She continued to fan herself dynamically, turning dry air into a refreshing coat of warm, melodic caresses across her face. She found herself detached as she glanced at the castle that stood just beyond the heavy iron gates. When first arriving to the large commerce city of Vai Ren she thought the palace to be imposing, often gleaming at the top of the hill in the daylight hours and spilling the strength of it's inhabitants across the land. After her first initial days in the city, however, she came to realize that the palace was simply a building, albeit one of an immense size, that housed the celebrities of an entire race. She listened as the gates opened, the bottom bars scrapping across the ground into a piercing scream of effort. Once again she felt her mind obsessed with the memories she had all but forgotten, as a young girl stood at these very gates, thinking how the palace looked majestic and fantasy-inspiring.

"Are you ready to start your new life in the palace?" she heard Venrahi purr behind her thoughts. She glanced over to him, her eyes caught in the brilliance of the sun. he watched as she blinked, while her face remained defeating to all other motions. As the carriage began to wind around the massive fountain that beautified the ancient palace, Venrahi stood, the tips of his fingers grazing the painted wood of the carriage. "Apprentice," he called as he stepped down from the cab when it finally came to a stop.

Bulma noticed as a young man around her age jog towards Venrahi. She felt the spray of water coming from the fountain as she was graciously helped from the carriage. "Thank you," she spoke in a tasteless tone when she was finally off, her hand grazing across her dress in a flowing manner.

"Shall we go inside," he said, grabbing her hand and linking her arm with his own. They began their march up the large, marble steps that led to the massive wooden doors that were already opened and greeting her with silent understanding.

Venrahi's voice echoed through the dimly lit entry halls of the palace as he explained his duties, the sound of his words fleeing into the infinite depths of the tapestry walls. What he had been saying began to swim in her head, blending and bleeding with the timeless procedures her father had once spoke of. She closed her eyes, forcing thoughts of her past away for another day and time. It took moments until she was satisfied with the absolute defeat of her memories, until they were finally raped from her mind. When she opened her eyes she was greeted with well lit hallways, the natural light of planet Vegeta's only sun shining brilliantly through the stream of windows on her left. With Venrahi blocking the images of the kingdom of Vai Ren, she took the opportunity to glance upon the paintings only the palace knew of. There, between draped tapestry and engulfed in light, hung images of many previous kings of the planet Vegeta. These portraits revealed the King in his royal glory, each strake of paint on the canvas paying homage to the King's history. She was taken aback, never realizing in her eighteen years of life that she was, as a citizen of this great planet, a part of this great history. The thought had overwhelmed her in a single instant, but it soon vanished as they neared a pair of finely painted, and expertly sculpted purple doors and a single woman who stood in front of them, her dress even more excellent the doors.

"Bulma, this is Baini (bah-ii-nee). She is the hostess of this certain concubine refuge, and she is the one who will be taking care of you during your life-long stay here at the palace," Venrahi spoke with simple, unnoticed malice.

"Well Venrahi, I knew you had fine taste, but who knew it was _this_ exceptional," she said in an almost similar manner as Venrahi. "I mean, she's nearly perfect in her beauty. Her hair the color of the sky, and her eyes as deep as the ocean itself." She paused in her musings and touched Bulma's face in an almost sensual way. "Are you full Cha'oronee?" she asked in tired spite. She was all too used to women coming in here being half-breeds. At least if she was a full-blooded Cha'oronee, then she wouldn't have to be stuck with sentencing her to death if she was of indecent coupling. She was so irritated with cleaning up the blood.

"Yes," Bulma lied, a skill she had known since childhood. Growing up her mother endorsed her lying to the neighborhood children that she was full-blooded, instead of the greater disgrace of being a half-breed.

The woman called Baini smirked and chuckled under her breath. "Good. Venrahi," she turned to the man who so blatantly poured out his urges through the thick air. "Thank you for bringing her here. I'll take it from here."

"Yes, well then I shall be taking my leave," he bowed with mild interest. As he walked away he told himself that he would bed that woman. _Bulma._ Palace tradition dictated that a new concubine could be taken to bed on the first night. There was no rule for after that first night.

She glared at his retreating form, sending imagined daggers through his very soul. "Well, Bulma, was that it?" she didn't wait for an answer as she turned from the woman and the hallway to the large ornamental metal doors. "Let's introduce you to your new home."

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_Author's Note: Okay, this is the final chapter I've had to rewrite. I know, it seemed to go by super fast, but I wanted to make this the last one because I'm tired of rewriting. Now the rest of the stuff to come is completely new and original, for all parties. I'll see how fast I can get it out, but this next week I'm workin' three doubles at the restaurant so I can get ready to go to CO. I need money, yo._

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything from DBZ. Hot damn, but if I did! _


	6. Chapter IV Labyrinth of Subservience

**------------------------------**

**She's a working girl, selling her company to make ends meet, never reaching that nirvana of accomplishment. **

**He is a man of influence that studies and trains to be better than he is, in turn, bettering his people and their planet. **

**Together they will inadvertently create the change their world so desperately yearns for, and release their kind from under the slavery and persuasive strength of alien forces.**

-------------------------

**Jaded Pill**

Chapter IV. Labyrinth of Subservience.

Baini held the new girl's hand limply in her own, remarking in the back of her mind how unexpectedly soft they were for being a common brothel whore. She had to admit that Venrahi did have taste, even if he were one of the most insufferable men in the palace. "Chichi!"

Bulma was startled from her reverie by the caretaker's sudden burst. She had yet to recover from her initial shock of how grand and beautifully decorated the room they now stood in was. Floor to ceiling windows framed in by heavy burgundy drapes that created the illusion that the glass was hanging freely. There, in the center of the room, was a shallow pool with clear blue water that shone like crystal in the late morning sun. She found her eyes fixed on the detailed mosaic on the floor of the wide tub. She recognized the man in the image as Va, a legendary man of the oldest told Saiyan stories. He was glorified in golden armor, surrounded by lavender and pink skies, and with a small group of women clinging to his thighs and ankles. If she remembered correctly, he had received the armor from the Vailege (vai-leeje) women, a small group of fetching and silent Cha'oronee spinsters living on Vailege Mountain who had claimed they attained the armor from the gods when they had released their anger onto a tree near their village. They pulled the sheet of cooled metal from the trunk of the massive tree and decoratively etched into the surface the stories of the end of the world. Va was then called to battle for these women by the gods themselves, telling him that the armor was theirs and not his to keep. He fought for the armor, and for the women, and won against the god's strongest warrior. The women of the mountain were so thankful that they agreed to follow him to the ends of the world to give whatever he desired, and this is how the first harem of concubines was created.

Bulma was so fascinated by, and fixated, on the image that she hadn't noticed the hostess had left her side, and a new face was now beside her.

"Fitting, isn't it?" a deep and nearly solemn voice broke her thoughts. She looked at the soft face of this new girl, noticing how deep her dark eyes were and how pale her skin was against her straight, black hair. Her lips shone with a soft pink hue that Bulma had never seen before. It was rumored, however, that the women of the palace received exotic and almost unnatural colors of fabric and make-up from their generous patrons. "I'm Chichi," she spoke again with the same hidden pain lingering in her soft-spoken words.

"Bulma." Her acquaintance was short and simple, her eyes still scanning the immense room. Positioned around the pool and in abundance were larger-than-average sized pillows, in assorted colors and randomly strewn across the room. Small throws were tossed over some. There were few women in the room, and those that were sat naked, some with their shoulders draped with flowing shawls. She looked passed the women once more and noticed the lack of corners in this smooth and dominating room.

"I'm the one that's going to be showing you around the palace: telling you where you can and cannot go during the day, informing you of the rules we have to follow, and the customs we are required as servants of the palace to know," she spoke with a simple formality that shadowed as sly knowledge.

"No offense, but why you?" Bulma asked, her voice dull and nearly abrasive. She wasn't trying to be rude, but her nature was her own, and she was used to never showing interest.

"Before you came through the palace gates, I was the 'fresh tease.' It is my job now to show you around today," her voice trailed off into the vast room.

"'Fresh tease,'" Bulma said, not quite asking, and not quite interested.

"Yeah, you're the new whore. Basically. And you'll be known as that until you have to show around the one who comes after you. It's just," she paused, as if trying to figure out how to word what she was going to say, "what they say. They use it to bait the new ones, saying it's easier to weed out the weaker ones if they torment them with it. You know, as if they were still in school," she said the last part under her breath, as if it were a secret between just the two of them.

Bulma was a bit surprised to find herself smiling at her last comment. She glanced around the room once more, noting with mild interest how the women in the room had begun to size her up with a feral attitude, their posture tense and their eyes piercing. It didn't trouble her. In fact, given their current place of being, she had a morbid fascination wash over her. What were they thinking, these harlots, these demoralized and corrupted women of the night? They were no better than she; she had no doubt that they, too, had started out with the same status she herself had just left behind.

"I wouldn't worry about it, though. It doesn't go much further than the teasing. But these women are vicious, so in case you don't want any trouble I'd keep my mouth shut, if I were you," Chichi pointed out as she walked in front of Bulma and towards the massive doors that led into the hallway. "Are you coming?" she asked, her hand resting calmly on the gold latch.

Bulma was slow to follow, her eyes still defiantly cast on the women surrounding her.

"Hmm, where to start," Chichi spoke to herself after shutting the door behind Bulma. "I suppose a warning is in order. I mean, before we actually get started. Baini, the hostess, she's very particular, and very strict. She's expects the rules to be followed exactly, because she _will _use her right to enforce. You see, Baini is the only woman in the harem the king will sleep with on a regular basis. It doesn't mean he won't try out the... 'popular' ones, but that's only usually for a couple of nights. That is, unless of course, they can make it through the first night. I've never slept with him myself, but I hear that it's hard to keep up with him. The only reason why Baini is the hostess now is because she's the only one that's lasted this long."

Bulma continued to walk a few steps behind Chichi who was an obvious well of information. Listening to everything carefully and taking it all in of what was said, she still couldn't help but look amazed as eyes studied the walls, ceilings, and even the windows of this new place. Quickly they had left the hallway that led strictly to the harem, and rounded a corner that led to one of the four outside hallways. On either side of her were walls of windows peering out into open courtyards that were vast with vivid and well-groomed foliage. Beneath her covered feet was tiled deep onyx stone, reflecting the morning in strained contrast, as if fighting the very light itself with its dark hue in extreme silence. The vaulted ceilings high above her were showered in unabashed brilliance, the sculptured scenes that sat nestled within their frieze seemed as if they were alive, moving as they moved.

"This is one of four cardinal hallways, not including the Main Hall itself. Right now, we are in what they call the 'west hall.' The palace is set up kind of like a compass. The King's throne is positioned at the very north end of the main castle, facing south," she said as she pointed behind her, "so the King can look over all of his subjects. You see, other than some woods behind the main compound, there's no land directly behind him at all. It's an interesting concept, I think. I'm not sure about this, but I think that because there are so many windows along these hallways that it falls in with the same concept as the throne position.

We're nearing the Main Hall, which leads directly from the castle doors to the throne room. All the hallways lead to the throne room, but that particular one has no detours. For instance, in the time of any sort of ceremony, or gala-type convergence, then it's lined with palace guards on either side and the rest of the palace is no longer accessible, except for palace servants," she paused another moment, looking out the windows into the sunlight. "You know, us."

Upon entering the Main Hall Bulma was bombarded with a rush of the sudden hustle and bustle that the other halls had been lacking. There were palace hands on ladders hanging material banners with careful precession and under detailed supervision. The banners, though being situated in a specified manner and of fine quality, felt out of place in the already highly ornate and embellished corridor. Women of the palace were on hands and knees, scrubbing the polished black stone, while others went at the windows gently, both inside and out. There were a few random men standing in the middle of everything overseeing everything.

"You have perfect timing, you know?" Chichi chirped, as if sensing Bulma's bewilderment. "The Prince will be arriving On-Planet in two days, so the palace has been like this for awhile. There's going to be a tremendous parade in his honor. We're not allowed to witness it outside of the palace, but, from what I hear, it's going to stretch from the landing pads, through the city, and into the palace itself. It's very exciting.

Do you know why the King was so urgent to bring in a replacement for the woman who died? It's said that the Prince is particular about numbers and specifics, so the King has been keeping an above average amount of women in the harem in order to not get hounded, if you will, by the Prince."

Bulma listened half-heartedly as they continued passed the Main Hall and through equally decorative halls.

"Not like it matters to the Prince," Chichi continued. "It's rumored that the Prince finds the palace harem an antiquated ritual that holds no use to the fashioning of a sound soldier, and exhausts the merit of a dependable foundation. Not like being a concubine holds any worth in the entirety, anyway," she laughed, the sound echoing in the hollow space. "But as much as he dislikes the custom, he may end up adopting it during his reign since it keeps the soldiers, and administrators of the palace alike, on good terms with the monarchy. That's why it's lasted so long."

They now found themselves in the final long hallway that mirrored that of all the others, and a significantly less then impressive doorway stood in front of them. The double doors, although unimpressive in size, was simple in design, and the metallic gold jumped from the intensity of the black undercoat. Past the pediment design, more windows spread out on either side like a pair of wings from a birds back. Bulma watched as Chichi opened both doors, pushing them away from her body in one swift movement. Those uncomplicated revealed the lush outdoors of the palace, neatly trimmed grass and native flowers lining the stone path that led to another pair of bare doors that coated in a natural finish.

Chichi stopped in her path across the rock, and looked at Bulma. "The building in front of us, isn't really a building at all. It stands out against the palace because of the lack of windows, at least here at ground level anyway. Down here it's just a staircase that leads to the basements. Up there all it is, is a break in the hallway. On the second floor and third floor, it leads to the that building," she pointed in the distance a building that looked as if it matched the size of the main palace. "We're not allowed past the first floor during the day. No one is, unless specifically authorized. So sunrise to sunset, it's off limits. It is enforced, by the way, but at night there are few guards, if any at all. That building though, is for the most part, royalty, except for the first floor which is strictly the closest cabinet members to the King himself."

With that impressed upon her, Bulma followed Chichi through the doors and down the tight staircase to the basements illuminated by a single flickering bulb. The absence of windows was amiss and it took several minutes before Bulma's eyes could adjust clearly to the deep darkness. The narrow hallways of the basement were dim with meager amount of sustained light. Doors lined the walkways, all of which seemed to be straining against the damp atmosphere.

"These are the slave corridors and they spread throughout the entire property. There are three basements: working, living, and guard. The 'working basement' is under the main palace. It has the kitchen, mainly, but there's also a common room for the slaves. They have it to keep them occupied and happy. You can't have a slave rebellion in a castle, you know. The kitchen, though, is directly under the Throne room, which is, in turn, connected to the main dining hall.

The 'living basement' pretty much says it all. It's the sleeping quarters for _all _of the slaves. There are usually four to six people to a room, the only exception being the head chefs and slave managers. And the 'guard basement' is the living quarters for the palace guards that aren't elite fighters. So basically, all of them that you see standing around on the palace grounds at attention are the guards that sleep there. They all get their own rooms, though. You see, the slaves may not be allowed to use us, but every guard is.

They rounded corner after corner, every hall the looking same as the last. The final hall they stepped into stretched into the darkness on either side, the barreled, stone ceiling a threatening reminder of just how deep they were. In between the wide expanse of sidewalk was a hollow trough with deep, flowing water. Above them was thick, industrial piping set up in a complex maze of movement.

"This water is the recycled sewage of the palace. It's filtered in a water treatment room below us and far from the main compound, which is connected to an underground water facility. I don't know much about it, other than that it's very reserved. You wouldn't think it would be considering what it's for, but I suppose that if it weren't so unknown than people would have easy access to the palace all the time. The pipes above us are used for the actual waste of the palace and they lead directly to said treatment room. From what the slaves say on their tours of the palace is that this water isn't completely filtered itself, that it goes through another set of actions to be completely clean."

They took a left and walked along the water for a while, the sound nearly melodic in it's approach to the set of gates up ahead. The veil of vertical bars separated the labyrinth of rooms from the other basement of the palace compound.

"I don't know why they have a gate here," Chichi uttered to the vast empty space while stepping over the six inch barrier drilled into the solid floor. "All this does, I suppose, is make the statement that 'you are now entering beneath the palace.'"

They continued through the uninteresting and dimly lit infrastructure, the sound of the rushing water fading as it disappeared beneath them. Ahead of them was a cluster of double doors that had began to warp from the humidity and pressure of the cellar. Chichi opened a single strained door for Bulma to pass through and shut it lightly behind her. The hallway they were now passing through was streaming with artificial light. The single corridor was as wide as the one they had just left, but instead of the harsh and unpleasantness the last area had presented, this one was decorated with reproduced materials used for doors, walls, and floor. The hallway was lined with simple, repeating doors, and imitating light fixtures. Reaching a dead end on their path, the turned into the second and final door on their right.

The kitchen was a flurry of hastened energy, every where there being someone doing something different than the last. The shelves were lined with pots and pans, spoons and spatulas, and dry ingredients as far back as the kitchen itself. As they walked farther into the room Bulma noticed on her left was the dish pit, piled with used dishes that were coming in as fast as they were coming out. On her right, separated by distance from the main lines, was the prep corner, where men and women were occupied by preparing the surplus of created food in mass quantities.

"Chichi!" a woman's voice commanded over the volume of movement. Bouncing toward them was a round, elder woman, her coat obvious of her status in the kitchen.

"Meryl," Chichi beamed with mirrored excitement.

"Chichi? Who is your new friend?" the woman said, looking Bulma up and down in a feigned attempt to look hostile.

"Meryl, this is Bulma. She is replacing Penyani (pen-yah-nee)."

"Oh, well, welcome to the palace then, child. Perfect timing, I'd say. His Highness, the Prince, arrives in a couple days. That's why this place is such a mess. It's not usually so disorderly." As the last word rolled of her tongue, a heavy crash beckoned her attention as if affirming the last statement. "What the hell is going on!" she screamed as she walked off, forgetting her previous conversation.

"It's always like this down here; don't let current circumstances fool you. Only now it's a little more frantic and excited. I guess returning royalty will do that," Chichi explained, as if the situation required one. "I spend most of my time down here during the day, having full access to whatever is in here. I've become good friends with Meryl. Did you know the King specifically requested her to be his personal chef, taking her from the royals of some distant planet after joining that king for a private dinner. I think that's neat, to be wanted like that."

"Why do you spend your time down here?" Bulma chided in.

Chichi nearly blushed as she looked away from the woman before her, until something caught her attention. "Oh! Didn't I tell you? During the day, the women of the harem are allowed to freely roam the palace grounds and are left to their own devices. I said earlier that we weren't allowed on the second floor of the palace. I suppose I should rephrase that. The only library is on the second floor, and the only access we are allowed to take to it is the back stairs just behind the main dining room. We're not permitted beyond the doors of the library though. But the gardens, training halls, the second pool, they're all ours to loiter." Chichi stalled in her approach to her next statement: "The King takes very good care of us."

The two women fell into an uncomfortable silence for several minutes, the sounds of the kitchen surrounding them in a cocoon of noise. Bulma sat with her hands in her lap while Chichi slowly peeled an apple, a foreign and exotic fruit on the planet of Vegeta. She had offered a piece of it to Bulma, but she politely declined even though she had never tasted the juice of an apple before.

"Well," Chichi began once again. "I suppose we should get going. The palace grounds are extreme, and kind of overwhelming. Lot's of places to get lost, you know. And tonight, I'll show you around the second floor."

After saying a short farewell to Meryl, they were out through the back doors and up the servant stairs that led just outside the main dining room. They stepped from the narrow and short hall through another set of doors, and once again they were presented with the humidity of the late morning.

-----------------------

_Author's Note: OMFG, I know. It just seemed to go on and on, huh? It was a bunch of information that probably won't be brought up again... or will it? I don't know, but I like background information chapters. They're usually dry and bland, but if you get them over and done with, then you won't have to worry about trying to incorporate everything in just any random spot throughout the story. This way it's already taken care of. And I introduced two new characters: Chichi (not so new), and Meryl, who will play an indiscriminate roll. You will see her again. And before you start thinking 'she lost her creative edge with naming characters,' just know that she's not from Vegeta, which was briefly mentioned earlier in the chapter. I tried to make the dialogue semi-interesting by making it a bit casual, no matter how boring it was. I like this chapter though. _

_Disclaimer: Contents may be '_Slippery When Wet_"_

_Warning: Next chapter will contain adult material. Don't say I didn't warn you._

_Countdown to B/V action starts... NOW! _

**3-**


	7. Chapter V A Desperate Yearning

Warning: Chapter contains Adult Content

**-------------------------------**

**She's a working girl, selling her company to make ends meet, never reaching that nirvana of accomplishment. **

**He is a man of influence that studies and trains to be better than he is, in turn, bettering his people and their planet. **

**Together they will inadvertently create the change their world so desperately yearns for, and release their kind from under the slavery and persuasive strength of alien forces.**

-----------------------------------

**Jaded Pill**

Chapter V. A Desperate Yearning.

She sat comfortably in the lush and oversized chair, the green, crushed velvet gentile against the exposed skin of her calves. The pillowed arms cradled her in a lavish embrace that she, a hapless survivor of misfortune, had never had the luxury of indulging in. She had already sat for hours, and she could sit for hours more, allowing herself to relax and release some of her pent-up frustrations. She felt the knots unwind under her skin and her muscles loosen as her body became lax in her seat. She uttered a sigh of contentment to the open air that was bathed in the late afternoon sun and took another look around the overdone library.

The second floor library, which took over two floors, was completely hollow. Solid bookshelves lined every wall, each shelf brimming with books. The first floor of the library gave off the illusion of a deep pit if standing on the second floor landing. There was proportional seating on either side, and a grouping of double doors as the only immediate entrance to the library pit. A statue stood in the center, almost fitting in it's position, but not nearly suitable for a library. It was of a foreign subject: a man sitting on stump, his hands to his mouth and his feet curled beneath him, and a group of children clinging to him in a desperate plea. The windows that went from the second floor landing to ceiling at the top of either ladder had eagerly showered the sculpture in brilliance. The second floor of the library had no images of any kind, only shelves upon shelves of well-organized books of every known subject, some even in alien languages. There was a separate landing at the third-floor entries to the two-story library, with a spiral staircase on either side. It seemed as if that landing were floating in the space provided as it was not attached to the other landing, creating an inconvenience for all those involved.

Bulma was startled by a jerk on the back of the chair she had recognized as her own. Before she could search for the cause a small group of women circled in front of her, cornering her in the chair, their hands gingerly stroking the velvet.

"You're the new one in the palace, right? I'm such a horrible person; I haven't introduced myself yet. My name is Ya'o'noii (ya-oh-no-ee), and I've been here for quite some time," the woman purred, the words escaping from her smirking lips. "Bulma, was it? It's nice to meet you Bulma."

"Same to you, Ya'o'noii," Bulma spoke with masked civility in her voice.

"Bulma, can I give you some advice before you truly start your stay here?"

"I would be very grateful, thank you." Bulma wasn't very interested in receiving her advice at all, as Chichi had given her an earful of information the day before on her tour of the palace, including a list of those whom you can and cannot trust.

"Wonderful!" she beamed, her hands cupped in front of her. After a moment of mimicked joy, Ya'o'noii's hands were at Bulma's side once more. "I suggest you find a clique. You know, a group of women you can trust and become friends with, who will protect you from the nasty and brutal women of the harem. You see, they're all very venomous women who will do anything to see you hanged. Metaphorically speaking, of course! We are ladies to degree, after all," she laughed, the other ladies following suit until she put a hand up, silencing them. "That is why I offer an invitation to you, Bulma," she let the new girl's name slide off her tongue in hidden malice. "It's a sort of protection, if you will. Not to mention we are beacons of information about anyone and everyone. What do you say?"

"That's a very tempting offer, Ya'o'noii," Bulma said, looking down at her book.

"Good! Then welcome to our little group, Bulma. First thing's first, you'll have to drop Chichi. We don't want little rats like her clouding up the mind."

"Oh, but Ya'o'noii, you didn't let me finish. It's a tempting offer, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline," Bulma spoke eagerly as she stood up, eyeing the woman in front of her.

"Why is that, Bulma? Don't you want our protection?" Ya'o'noii asked, her voice holding little appreciation.

"I'm afraid you'll end up doing more harm than good to me with my current wealth of inexperience," Bulma said before turning and moving past the women. It wasn't her intention to make enemies and she certainly didn't want to start on her second day, but it couldn't be helped. Her mother had told her long ago that a woman's words are penetrating in assault, just as they should be in defense.

"Bulma, I would watch what you say to me. I'm capable of making your life a living hell."

"Why? I didn't say anything harmful, or rude, did I? If I did then I sincerely apologize," she said with a lack of enthusiasm and honesty.

"Ladies, enough," the heavy voice of Baini fell through room and pierced the conversation with precision. "Ya'o'noii, you should know better than to cause a disturbance in the public of the library. And Bulma, stop harassing the veterans, will you? You haven't even started yet and already your making enemies." With that Baini was gone, Ya'o'noii and her pack not far behind the hostess.

Bulma squeezed the book in her hand trying to compose herself. _Women_, she thought as she reluctantly replaced the book upon it's shelf. The day was dragging on and soon the night would fall, and she would have her first client of her extended stay.

Chichi had told her the night before that each concubine would receive one a patron a night, and often no more than that. "There are two things Baini takes into account before placing a woman with a client," she had said. "First, is communication of the request. It's first come, first serve basically. More than one man can request a woman's presence a night, but whichever request letter she comes across first is the one who get's the woman for the evening. And second is the rank of those requesting the woman. Obviously if it were a request from the King the other's calling on her would become void. But even if one of his trusted cabinet members petitioned for her they have automatic favor." Bulma was also warned that many of the men appreciated, and basically expected the women to show enthusiasm while in bed with them. "I assume it's because they're used to being told they're extraordinary everyday of their life," Chichi had told her. "It just helps feed their claimed self-importance."

Bulma knocked lightly on the heavy door of the state room, not entirely sure of herself for the first time in many years. She had been a bit hesitant when walking up the back stairs to the second floor, insecure with not only her abilities, but participating willingly in a stranger's fetish. She had never been willingly welcomed as a part of someone's fantasies and she wasn't entirely fixed on the idea of starting it now.

The door opened slowly to reveal a familiar man. Venrahi had a sly smile worming across his face, and his eyes shone with a lecherous gleam. "My dear Bulma, I'm so happy you're here. I hope you found it alright." He stepped to the side allowing her to pass by him, and shut the heavy door as softly as he could behind her.

"Yes, thank you. I did."

Her answer was short, exactly what he expected from all that he remembered of her from the day before. Her beauty was unmatched by any woman he had seen and the palace garbs she had adorned hugged her flawless frame in a dramatic embrace. Her hair hung freely in front of her lightly painted face, her eyes more brilliant than he had remembered. "You look absolutely, stunning, miss Bulma," the words leaked from his mouth like water from a faucet.

"Thank you."

"I'm not at all surprised though. You hold yourself well, and your beauty... well, it speaks for itself, I must say." He was rarely proud of himself for finding the women he did, but even he surpassed his own conceived notions of his competency. He had no doubt she would be exceptional in bed and had already imagined so the night before, his fantasies allowing his body to relieve itself of its pent-up frustrations. She would be on top, straddling his hips and forcing himself to push deeper into her. Her hair would be clinging to her face and neck in a piercing thrust against the beads of sweat, and her eyes would be clouded over in unbridled desire. Her hands would be free to roam his body, as well as her own, and with those expert hands she would know just where to touch to send his body reeling in ecstasy. His hands, in turn, would explore her own body, discovering the strength of her thighs, her taught stomach, and her ample breasts. Her lips and tongue would trace his salty skin, ravaging every inch with a starved yearning, and he would do the same to her, her songs of pleasure filling the air in a symphony of passion.

"Mr. Venrahi, you flatter me far too much, but I thank you just the same," Bulma spoke softly, the tips of her fingers gently tracing the lines of her exposed neck, the invite going all but unnoticed by the only other person in the room.

Venrahi's mind screamed as his body began to respond to the sensual movements of Bulma's hands. His breathing became shallow and his hands trembled; it had been so long since he was last with a woman. He moved on her with the quickened speed of a man gone mad with lust. He slipped his arms around her waist, his hands becoming unknown to him as they took on a life of their own, attacking every inch of her dressed body. His lips, too, became disowned to himself as they bit, licked, and sucked at her neck, lips, and earlobes. He couldn't stand it much longer, and he removed her of her clothes in expert fashion, managing to not shred even an inch of fabric.

His calloused hands ravaged every inch of her now naked figure, and Bulma's body unwittingly began to react to the unfamiliar contact his hands had with her skin. She couldn't compare it to anything she had experienced before, for all the men she had slept with in the past would come into her room, do their business, and leave. This was the first time a man had actually touched her body because it was an act that they desired, instead of something that would only end up costing more money in the end. As she fought back her moans she realized that despite the wall of false intimacy this so desperately created, it was something she couldn't overlook as an effective method of arousal.

He nearly threw her on the bed out of the obvious need for pleasure and had noticed, in passing, that one of Bulma's hands was to her mouth and her face showing signs of restraint. He licked his way to her ear in one solid action and lingered there for a moment. "I imagine you haven't been touched like this before," he whispered, noticing that his words had an effect. "It's alright to respond to natural urges, Bulma. I encourage it." With that he moved on past her shoulders and started to experience her breasts, which were far more perfect than he could have imagined.

Bulma clawed at the silk bedding above her head with her back arching and toes curling. She struggled to constrain herself, her reserve intense and almost more than she could bear. It was uncharacteristic of her to show so much to someone who is still such a stranger to herself. This sensation though, was more than she could even explain. She had no words. She gasped and clutched even tighter at the bedding as this outsider moved further down.

He had tasted her skin and it was as sweeter than he had imagined, and now he paused at the threshold of her fragrant womanhood. He could smell her excitement; it lingered in the air like an aromatic cloud. He lapped out once for a meager taste, but had moved his head away from between her thighs. He had a far bigger urge to feel her from the inside. He would save that experience for a time where he could eagerly savor every sensation.

She felt as he pushed himself into her with one sudden and unrestrained moment. Her body reacted in part, as if it had known how to do so the entire time. Her thoughts, though, began to jumble as her heart quickened. She body was hurting. He pounded her faster and faster, his hurry being accelerated by his extreme need to finish. His pelvis racked against her own causing the jolts to shoot up her spine. And yet, despite her discomfort, her distress never began to show on the outside and her body still showed signs of enjoyment. She never expected that accompanying such obvious pleasure there would be a discomfort like this. It felt as if it were never real from the start; her pleasure having been a pseudo experience from the start.

He continued to penetrate her, slowing down momentarily as he felt his climax growing nearer. He picked up speed once again, his muscles tensing. He pulled himself out just in time and let himself spill over her smooth abdomen. He sighed. He hadn't been with a woman in so long that he had almost forgotten how warm and tight the inside of a woman can be. He fell to her side in a heap of spent flesh, his rapid breathing catching up to his current state.

Bulma stood up from the bed and used the provided towel to wipe herself down. She was disappointed that she, too, couldn't reach a climax, despite all the attention that had been given to get her there. _Oh well_ she thought, people like her aren't supposed to enjoy it anyway.

---------------------------

_Author's Note: So I'm finally done with this chapter, and it's about time, too! I'm not very proud of it, but it's important for everyone to know that Bulma does sleep with other people of the palace. It's not an important chapter as it is a necessary one. For those of you who have been reading this, and enjoying it on a semi-regular basis, will notice how the chapters had changed. I made the original chapter one the prologue because it seemed to fit better. That's alright though, it works, so whatever. I'm going to try and write another chapter while I'm here in Colorado, but it might become a problem when I get to Gunny because of the amount of ahem booze I'll be consuming. Happy 21__st__ b-day to me!_

_Disclaimer: You know the drill._

_Reference Note: Okay, so I'm so happy that I had a chance to reference one of my all time favorite sculptors, and all of you will no doubt enjoy the twisting and grief-stricken people of it. It's by _**Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux **_and it's called _**Ugolino and His Children**, _sculpted between _**1865-1867**. _If any of you know something about art, 1865 wasn't really a year for full-on realistic sculptors. There were, don't get me wrong, but it wasn't really the fashion. Anyway, _**Carpeaux **_has a strict emphasis on realism, and has a complete understanding of Michelangelo's sculptors, which is certainly apparent by the size of the hands and feet. The image is referencing _**Dante's **_**Inferno**_, _where Count Ugolino is shut up in a tower to starve, along with his four sons. Later, Ugolino relates to Dante, _

'_I bit both hands for grief. And_

_they, thinking I did it for hunger,_

_suddenly rose up and said, "Father..."_

_[and offered him their own flesh as food._

_(33. 58-75)_

_Now before all of you go around thinking I'm a complete art-snob, I'm really not. Yes, I kind of know art, but I'm certainly no expert. Besides, most, if not all of that information came from my art history book from three years ago. I'd put the title down, and reference it, but that's going to have to wait until a little later, when I'm back in Oklahoma. _

_ALRIGHT! I'm almost finished. You will all be happy to know that Vegeta will be in the next chapter. We finally get introduced to him in all his older regal...ness. heh heh. _

_Countdown to B/V action: 2!_


	8. Chapter VI Lost In This Moment

**-------------------------------**

**She's a working girl, selling her company to make ends meet, never reaching that nirvana of accomplishment. **

**He is a man of influence that studies and trains to be better than he is, in turn, bettering his people and their planet. **

**Together they will inadvertently create the change their world so desperately yearns for, and release their kind from under the slavery and persuasive strength of alien forces.**

-----------------------------------

**Jaded Pill**

Chapter VI. Lost In This Moment.

She stepped into the illuminated hallway following closely behind Chichi. Despite her finally settling into the palace and accepting her life there, she was still unsure of what to expect from the 'required presence' that had been enforced within the last few days.

Baini had informed every woman of the harem several days before that as appreciated women of the palace, they were granted invitations to the extravagant ball to celebrate the Prince's return. Their presence, despite the formality of being invited, was required. They had been given that night off to honor and praise His Highness with merely their arrival and necessary attendance.

They had decorated their nearly flawless bodies with similar dresses designed specifically for gala's such as the one they were attending that evening. It was a simple black dress, the collar cut low and resting at the empire waist, and the rest of the dress ending just above the knee. The only ornament on the unembellished fabric was a single red sash sitting just below the bust, a mark of her obvious station in the palace. It was expected that if from a lesser quality of life, such as the women of the harem, that while in the palace they must have an obvious definition of their self-worth for those around them. As concubines, the red sash is expected to be worn with acceptance and without humility.

Chichi and Bulma entered the throne room through a side door, moving in discreetly behind the mass of women that they called room mates. Bulma glanced around the entirety of the room and allowed herself to indulge in its extravagance. The intricate pillars at the four corners of the amazing room stretched toward the vaulted ceiling in a silent illusion of strength. The set of grand stair cases circled along the far walls, and the stairs themselves were carpeted in a deep burgundy. At the head of the room was a single throne decorated in golds and reds sitting atop a small stage, framed by dripping tapestry that danced along the tile. Large paneled windows lined the rounded room, allowing the impressive sight of the royal gardens to bleed in the sunset.

Bulma noticed with minor curiosity that there were hundreds of people surrounding them, dressed elegantly from head to foot. The women's gowns traced the marble floor with the edges of fabric, and the busts created perfect silhouettes against the setting sun. Men were dressed in fine waist coats, tailored to fit perfectly along their body. The high ranking officials, or generals of the military adorned special pins on the lapels of their jackets, telling those in the room who they were and what they stood for. Men and women mingled throughout the room, sharing random pleasantries with one another while sipping on their expensive wine.

Bulma took a glass of wine from a passing tray and sipped gingerly at the alcohol, as if were her rightful place to indulge in such a gift. She remained close to the woman she arrived with, who at this moment was also sampling the wine. "When will they be presenting the Prince?" she asked the other woman, not entirely sure why she was interested.

"Any minute now, I would think," Chichi replied, something unnoticeable behind her words.

In that moment, the band seated in the balcony stood from their seats and began to play the royal anthem. A short man walked along the far wall and toward the stage the throne was set upon. "Ladies and gentlemen," he bellowed out, his deep voice gathering everyone's remaining attention, "His Majesty, King Vegeta." A thunderous applause encircled the hall and captured every inch of the room in its commanding grasp as the King took an identical path toward his throne.

"Thank you, everybody, thank you," King Vegeta accepted their applause with a curt nod in each direction. He held up his hands in a form of discretion, attempting to quite the considerable amount of people. "Alright people, let's bring it down to a slight roar," he chuckled to himself, the many other people in the room generously following suit. "As much as I appreciate the praise you give to me through your applause, we are not here to celebrate me. We are here to welcome back your Prince and future King. Five long years have passed since his acceptance to train under Emperor Frieza himself, and for five long years he has studied to rightfully follow in my footsteps as ruler of this great planet. Please welcome him home with more acclamation than you have graciously shown me this evening. Your Prince, Vegeta!"

An uninhibited and deafening cheer overpowered the ball room. The sea of people, with their hands applauding above their heads in a form of regarded esteem, split into two halves and created a single path for their one and only Prince.

Bulma stood near the back along side Chichi, her attention caught by the arched and elaborate double doors as they opened in unison toward the sea of people that had gathered. Two elite guards stepped through the threshold first, their status marked by the symbol on their chest plates and by the color of their armor. Their boots fell hard onto the bare marble floor several feet from the other and their heads were held high out of obedience and self-pride. Bulma glanced over to Chichi, the only person she has become comfortable with, and noted to herself that her smile sent out waves of absolute joy, as if inside she were rejoicing in her own happiness.

Before she could inquire of the other woman the royal anthem started up once again and Bulma was suddenly distracted by the swift movement of a flowing red cape. His stature was built collectively of aristocracy with an immodest approximation of his own worth to his people. He wasn't a very tall man, she absently noted, but it was quite obvious to anyone that laid their eyes upon him, that he, a man that garnered respect, had noticeable strength and undeniable intelligence. Most men of regard, especially those of a monarchy, prided themselves on having immediate knowledge of the world, their tenacious gathering of information lost on themselves, and not for their people. This man who gallantly preceded down the aisle never expressed that his knowledge of the universe was to be collected and saved, but had always conveyed, with minor ferocity, that his obtaining of information was for his people and for their future, and not strictly for the continual development of his self-worth.

Bulma had to make clear to herself, however, that his hardened body and trapped spirit had attracted her. She had heard stories of the Prince, about his overpowering, but silent, nature; about his disdain of archaic palace rituals, and of his appreciation of the pursuit of knowledge and strength as a collective whole. There had been several rumors floating throughout the palace, and gossip had become everyone's favorite form of communication. Bulma, being a child victim of rumors herself, never took any of it as strict and honest truth, yet she couldn't help but be intrigued.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the Prince started, silencing the room in a mere glance and phrase. "I thank you greatly for such a fantastic welcome home celebration. It is quite overwhelming, I have to say. As you all know, I have been off-planet for several years training under our mighty Emperor, Freiza. Through my studies under Lord Freiza's guidance, I have learned to better myself as a man, as a prince, and as your future King. I appreciate this gracious reception, but this is not only an occasion for myself, but one for you as well. Please enjoy this evening, as I know I will."

The room once again erupted into cheers, the people accepting the Prince in all his amazing and still potential glory. Bulma, entertained by the overwhelming admiration that took over the room, leaned into Chichi as if to tell her a secret, but noticed, instead, that Chichi was preoccupied. The dark-haired woman darted her head back and forth; a desperate attempt in a fruitless search. "What are you looking for?" Bulma said, breaking the silence and startling her companion for the evening.

"Not what. Who." Chichi corrected as if it absolutely needed to be clarified.

"I apologize. _Who_ are you looking for." She watched as Chichi suddenly turned away from the crowd and focused on the tiled floors, as if it what she was doing no longer mattered.

"Nothing."

"Chichi!" A man's voice rose softly above the mass of people surrounding them. "Chichi!"

Bulma glanced in the direction and was surprised to see an impressively tall man stroll toward them. She recognized him as he got closer, noticing how his hair flared out away from his face. He was one of the two guards that had recently entered the grand throne room with the Prince, his armor revealing his possition.

"Go-... Kakkarot." Chichi beamed, her smile stretching further than Bulma had ever seen.

The man walked up to Chichi, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His hand was to his neck, rubbing the base of it in an anxious gesture. His stature shrunk under the weight of his own embarrassment, and his cheeks nearly stained pink under his darting eyes. Despite the reservations he had while standing in front of this woman, he couldn't help but be embraced in her eyes. Eyes that were so deep he felt he wouldn't be able to escape even if he wanted to try. She swallowed him whole and he found it hard to breathe, as if he would be lost forever in a world that belonged only to them. No one else surrounded them; no one else existed.

She was consumed, her breathe getting caught in her throat and her heart skipping a beat in her chest. He was a vision before her, his tall and built frame expressing strength and security. She cherished every touch, every kiss, every moment together before he had left, and now she longed to hold him. The thought of them alone together, sitting in the emptiness of his room after making love, talking about anything and everything late into the night. She yearned for it desperately while he was away, but in profession, doing anything affectionate in public was forbidden. How desperately she wanted to touch him.

"Kakkarot, I pray you have been well?" Chichi stuttered, her thoughts almost overwhelming her ability to speak.

"Yes, I have. And Chichi, you have been well?" He, too, was nearly a jumbled mess before this woman, his voice cracking and straining.

"I have, thank you. I have managed to keep myself," she paused, not entirely sure of her next word, "busy, in your absence." She smiled and again stared openly at the floor as her cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. "Kakkarot," she managed after a moment of silence, "I'm very happy you are back, from your important mission."

"Yeah," he sighed, looking directly at the woman before him, thinking if he took his eyes off of her for a single moment than she would disappear.

"Kakkarot," a heavy voice fell over the lovers. Looking behind him, they noticed the Prince standing there, his arms crossed over his chest and his dark eyes bearing down on them.

"Sir?" Kakkarot turned and bowed slightly to his Prince.

"Come with me, we have things to discuss with some very important people," the Prince stated sharply.

"In the middle of all of this?" Kakkarot retorted, not quite remembering his place before his comrade while in the palace.

"Yes. Now, if you don't mind. Oh, but don't let me disturb you," he put his hands up in feigned defeat, a gesture that demonstrated sarcasm and a coltish familiarity. He glanced at the woman he was with. She seemed like a simple girl: her hair of average tone and texture; her face having no exotic features; and her body expectantly curvaceous and shapely.

"I apologize, your Highness. I'm right behind you," Kakkarot told his Prince, amusement apparent on his face, not his face. He turned to follow him, only to look back at the woman he had been away from for so long. "Oh, and Chichi?"

"Yes, Kakkarot?" she chirped, her voice again cracking and her face brimming with anticipation.

"Call me Goku," he smiled and then was gone, disappearing into the crowd behind the beloved Prince Vegeta.

"Of course... Goku," her voice was soft, her mind getting lost while watching his retreating form.

Bulma grunted deep in her throat, catching her companion off guard. "Who was that?"

"Huh?" Chichi looked at her, shocked that the woman asked and interested. "Who, him? No one," she laughed.

Bulma snorted, obviously unimpressed with Chichi's attempt to hid her true feelings. "Yeah, right, and I'm not _really _a whore," she said, a hint of playful cynicism deeply apparent in her tone of voice. "Who was it? Really."

"You really want to know?" Chichi was baffled. This woman, who was still very new in the palace, never reached out for any comradery, or even for the opportunity to be included. Her inquiring in this situation, a very private and personal affair, eluded to her desire to be involved with someone's life and know someone's secret. Chichi, despite her uncertainty, felt an overwhelming joyfulness encompass her soul and wasn't entirely sure why. She had never had any female friends, but felt incredibly drawn to this woman's resistance of friendship and sociality.

"That's why I asked, yes."

Chichi laughed to herself. "I met him when I first came to the palace."

"Wait, I don't understand. You've been here that long? I mean, the Prince has been gone for years."

"No," she laughed. Kakkarot, only recently finished his personalized training to be a Royal Guard. It was four months ago, I think. The Prince requested him personally. Apparently, Kakkarot grew up in the palace and has known him for years. He's not an elite, but he's strong and the Prince trusts him."

"So, how did you meet him?" Bulma asked, surprising herself on how genuinely interested she felt. She had never in her life insisted on such trivial and unimportant information from someone else's life.

"Well, I had started in the palace days before and I was still trying to get used to it. I remember I was in the kitchen, cooking as usual, when he walked in and stood right behind me, complimenting me on the smell. When he finally had a taste, I guess he was hooked. He came in everyday after his studies and training and I would cook him everything, even if I'd never made it before, and he would eat it without reservation." Chichi felt faraway from the conversation and felt as if she were standing in the kitchen, cooking to her hearts content while Kakkarot would talk to her about anything and everything. She had imagined that what she felt on those days was exactly what a bride felt in her first year of marriage: cooking for her husband after he got home, talking about their day, staging their hopes and dreams over dinner and wine. It was the closest she would ever get to that feeling.

"When was this?"

"Let's see, I met him," she paused, thinking back to the first day, "three weeks before he left." At that time she was alone, and though the palace was full of new people and new experiences, she felt as if she were swallowed up in a black hole, unable to escape and unable to relate. When she met him, she found herself smiling and laughing as if they were completely new to her. He was a single beam of light that traveled light years to reach her, and she was grateful for every day, no matter how seldom they wrote, or even spoke to one another. She had missed his face, but his voice was what she dreamt about the most while he was away. It was his voice that had rescued her, it seemed, from the life she feared and the life that was still unknown. "You know, it's funny, he requested me every night for two weeks and on the last night, after I begged Baini on hands and knees, I was finally with him, in his room. We spent most of the night talking, relating to one another our hopes for the future and our lives of the past. We sat there for hours, and I enjoyed it completely. He did not request from me what so many had expected. I realized, after he left, that I–" she paused and leaned into Bulma's frame, "I love him." She smiled and looked away from the other woman, feeling stupid for saying such a thing, but immensely proud that she could admit to someone of her complete, but honest foolishness.

Before Bulma could say anything more, Baini walked up to them, a stern and urgent look overtaking her aged face. "Chichi and Bulma, at half past ten you are to head back to the with the other women. We have to set up a presentation for the aristocrats that are staying in the palace."

"It's a little sudden, don't you think? I mean, why wasn't anything brought up sooner?" Chichi asked, not feeling as if she were overstepping her bounds.

"The King and I were just discussing it, that's why. We'll have to lower the stage, gather tea and finger sandwiches, and get some music prepared. It'll be starting around 11:30. Remember: half past ten." With that, she was gone, smiling and bowing curtly as she passed many of the officials.

Bulma watched as her caretaker and hostess walked off, feeling unsure of what to do. "What kind of presentation?" she asked Chichi, not quite understanding the situation.

---------------------------

_Author's Note: UGH! Okay, I'm going to be completely honest: I hate this chapter. Hate it! There are paragraphs that I like, descriptions that I'm slightly proud of, but not to the point of complete domination of my psyche because of all of the endorphins. Nope, I just don't like it. You see, I started writing it while I was in Colorado, where I surrounded by my friends. Every time I tried to write, I realized just how difficult it was with them around. Ugh, I shouldn't have even tried. I just wanted it to be over with, that's why I stopped it there. Horrible place, I know; not a good place to end a chapter at all. But I just got so sick of it. And OMG! The introduction for Vegeta: STUPID! I'm unimpressed, and to be completely honest, I just wanted to get it posted. And I'm disappointed that I didn't reach my goal while I was gone. I knew I was going to be busy, but I wanted to write two chapters while I was gone. Write! Meaning completely finished and posted. But noooo! I finished one and barely started another. Oh well, the next one will be better. And there'll be a better chapter title next time, too. Promise. Well, that's my rant. I'd write more, but I have to work in 8 hours and I'm tired. I still want to know what you think, though. If it sucked, please spare no hesitation. If you liked it, that's great – because my rant didn't phase you. _

_Disclaimer: Whatev-ah! We all know da drill, yah! Get it, got it, good. _

_... sleeeeeeeep... _

_Oh, btw, I lied. You'll find out about Vegeta's interest in Bulma in the next chapter, but there probably won't be any hanky-panky until the one after that... I know, I'm bad. I do apologize! _


	9. Chapter VII Something Beautiful

**--------------------------------------**

**She's a working girl, selling her company to make ends meet, never reaching that nirvana of accomplishment.**

**He's a man of influence that studies and trans to be better than he is, in turn, betting his people and their planet.**

**Together they will inadvertently create the change their world so desperately yearns for, and release their kind from under the slaver and persuasive strength of alien forces.**

**--------------------------------------**

**Jaded Pill**

Chapter VII. Something Beautiful.

He could feel the deck beneath his floor pillow: hard, concrete, and raised above the water as if were a pedestal. In many ways, it was. Him and his father sat the end of a table, his father's cabinet members and other male aristocracy crowded around them. It was a male orgy of conversation that was surrounded by low tables and beautiful women. He was out of place in the situation that was forced upon him early that evening, and found no comfort in the women around him. The closer they would get with their vacant affections, the farther he would recede into his own thoughts.

These women, though the most beautiful in the kingdom, were nothing but provided playthings; toys for a man's indulgence. If pursued enough, or enjoyed completely by the same man, there was the odd opportunity of receiving a gift. A trinket; a meaningless, and often expensive possession that created the illusion of a beautiful and torrid affair. Torrid enough in passion, these liaisons were, but unemotional and cold in their detachment from one another. These women were young and beautiful, capable enough to capture any man's heart in their taloned claws, but like all women, they eventually become swayed by a man's undeniable interest.

Instead of living their lives in a desired fancy, as they should have done, they became involved in a hefty world of debt and absolute doubt. He could only imagine what they think about their lives that have become wasted, as they too become shells of they're former selves. These women often have no families, their pasts wrought with misfortune and certain difficulties. Not realizing, of course, that they alone created their current state of hollowed being. Not their childhoods. Not any one person from their life.

These women could've done much more with themselves and gladly accepted life, like most other women of their planet. These women are now used up, bigoted and staged as being incapable of love, or unable to recognize a man's honest affection as purely genuine. When these women, these concubines, leave the palace and start out, for the first time on their neglected roads of life, they will have nothing other than the gifts they received. What happens, though, when their possessions fail them? They will have nothing to call their own. Tangible things that they can touch and hold will be gone. They will have no one to love, or be loved by; no children to carry on a family's legacy; no happiness to truly call their own. There is no reason left to fight for a life that never even existed.

His father sat to his left, his most trusted guard and oldest friend to his right. He listened in abject silence as others spoke around him, his lack of interest dramatized by his stiff back, crossed arms, and contorted expression. He had better things to do than sit here and chat about idle things that mean nothing, but his obligations, however moot, were not to be neglected. Regardless of his objectiveness toward the awkward and unnecessary party thrown for his flag-waving return home, he still had a questionable, but mandatory commitment to the men flocked around him. He was, after all, still only a prince, and though on-planet to remain until his ascendancy to King, these men of society and war were still his father's primary advisors and thus they would continue to be.

His father, though a just and seemingly fair man, was incorrigible. He loved to have women around him, praise him; have their lips whisper sweet proclamations of their unyielding love for him. They loved him, certainly, but as a king. Not as their King, for even if he were the king of a distant star they would adore him just the same. Their interest, he supposed, was peaked especially because he was, inherently, their own, and he was very persistent with announcing such.

His father sat there, as all the men did, with a woman at his arm, rambling away as she would pour him a drink. The depth of conversation was shallow, but harmless, the gentlemen of the court having been used to years of meaningless chatter. If he had been mildly interested in the open debauchery of this all-too-common party, he was no longer. There was no deep conversation surrounding him: no talks of future peace, no challenges of current struggles. It was futile to ask and begin a discussion, anyhow, for no one would be interested and no one would listen. The women would be eager to talk, but they are uneducated and inarticulate with their words. They know how to speak to please a man, but are not be expected to have any experience with intelligent conversation.

He sat there listlessly, absently listening to the flirtations surrounding him. He glanced at his personal guard, Kakkarot, through his caging fingers. As contrasting as this person was, his seriousness in every matter was absolute, that there was no doubt. His attention had been strictly set on one corner of the room for the hour they had already been there, and he ignored every woman that came to him.

He, being the ever curious man that he was, found himself staring in the same direction of his comrade. Sitting there with her legs beneath her, an esorhe guitar on her lap, was a beautifully frail woman with her pale skin and tiny frame, her charcoal colored hair grazing her small nipples. He noticed, too, that this woman stared directly at Kakkarot, her eyes fixated only on him. _So, this must be her,_ he thought to himself. The past several days before their arrival on-planet, Kakkarot had become a luck-sick puppy, constantly going on about a woman of the harem whom he had fallen desperately for.

In the background, behind the heavy curtain of noise, he could hear her silently playing. "She's amazing, isn't she," he heard Kakkarot say, his mind trying to place the song.

'_I close my eyes, and I smile, _

_knowing that everything is alright_

_to the core, so close that door,_

_is this happening?_

_My breath is on your hair, I'm unaware_

_that you opened the blinds and let the city in_

_God, you held my hand and we stand_

_just taking in everything_

_and I knew it from the start _

_so my arms are opened wide_

_you're head is on my stomach and we're_

_we're trying so hard not to fall asleep_

_and here we are on this 18__th__ floor balcony _

_we're both flying away_

_so we talked about moms and dads_

_about family pasts _

_just getting to know where we came from_

_our hearts were on display, for all to see_

_I can't believe this is happening to me and_

_I raise my hand as if to show you that I was your's_

_that I was so your's for the taking, _

_I'm so your's for the taking_ _and_

_that's when I felt the wind pick up_

_I grabbed the rail while choking up_

_these words to say and then you kissed me_

_I knew it from the start_

_my arms are opened wide_

_your head is on my stomach and we're_

_we're trying so hard not to fall asleep_

_here we are on this 18__th__ floor balcony _

_we're both flying away_

_and I'll try to sleep to keep you in my dreams_

_till I can bring you home with me_

_I'll try to sleep and when I do I'll _

_keep you in my dreams._'

The words of the song rolled off her tongue in true and honest passion, and yet the rest of the room was oblivious to this. It wasn't really expected that someone would fall in love with a simple concubine.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Kakkarot asked under his breath, trying to keep what he was saying just between the two of them, all the while his eyes never leaving hers. "She said that, she wrote it for me. It sounds about right."

"So she writes her own music? Not uncommon..." ..._for a whore. _He wouldn't dare say that last part to the soldier's face. He wasn't afraid of the man sitting next to him, far from it. It was, instead, a mutual understanding between the two. Kakkarot had once said, about himself, and after being insulted by his friend about his love: "I kill for you. I would die for you. You are my prince, my friend, and it is my duty. I would do the same for her. Not out of obligation, but because of my _want_ to do so; to show her how grateful I am for the love she has shown me. If she found someone new, then I would fight for her love until the end of my days. If I could not have her, then I am willing to die, for she is all I want in this world. I have _never _desired any one thing more than I have desired this. If she asked, then I would rid myself of the life that I know now and live with her in peace, away from everything, while living off the land, or something equally cliche. Call it insanity, if you want to, but I know this, above all else, is the truth. If this isn't love, than what could it possibly be."

From that day on, he had never insulted the woman, or Kakkarot's emotions for her. He had never seen his friend, his personal guard, so serious about any abstract emotion such as he had that day. He had never thought that Kakkarot, a man who's thoughts were often clouded with food and training regimes, could be so intense and certain on one thing.

At that moment, in a fleeting second of stalled time, a flash of blue swam in front of the woman strumming on her guitar. Her naked body was nearly flawless and her paled skin was blemish-free. She was fit, her lightly toned muscles accentuating her feminine body. Her ample breasts bounced comfortably with controlled movement and her pink nipples regarded the chilled room with generous affection.

As if she could sense his eyes burning into her, she looked at him, nearly catching him off-guard. Her eyes were gorgeous: as vibrant as the sky, and as deep as space. He had never seen such intense eyes before. With his own eyes, he traced the perfection of her face: her small nose, her subtle jaw, her round chin. He noticed as her full lips spread into a simple smirk, as if it were a secret between the two of them. But, as quickly as it had happened, she turned away and sat herself down next to one of Kaitiparuk's (kai-tee-pah-ruke) men, filling his glass after getting comfortable.

His eyes remained fixed on her. He was in a trance by everything she did: her hand brushing away unwanted hair from her face; her attempt at conversation with the men around her; her forced smiles in response to something one of them had said. Every once in a while, in a very calculating matter, she would steal a glance in his direction, and just as discreetly she would look away.

He had to know.

He glanced around the room and noticed, standing off to the side, a slave of the palace, specifically put there to assist the women with cleaning duties, or running duties for any of them. He motioned to him, catching the poor fellow off guard. Nervously the man approached him.

"Y-yes, your Highness?" the man whispered, his voice shaking.

"That woman over there. Her, with the odd coloring, who is she?" he asked, his mouth hidden by his own hand as he spoke.

"Ah, her... her name is Bulma. She only recently joined the harem."

"Hmm... Bulma..." he let her name slide off his tongue. "Very well. I want her in my room tonight."

"No need to offend, your Highness, but the women have the night off. It's a rule of celebration."

"I know that," he said, his already short patience slipping away. "I don't care what you do, or how you do it, but I want her in my room. Do you understand?"

"Yes, your Highness. Very well, I'll try my best." With that, he moved away, and left to seek Baini, the only woman allowed to make such a decision.

The prince had been distracted in that moment, not noticing his father's speculating glance.

-----------------------

_Author's Note: Ugh, it's done. I like this chapter much better! Much, much, much! I like how they're flirting with their eyes. There are a few things I love about this chapter. First, it's from Vegeta's vantage point, more or less. And the thing Kakkarot says to Vegeta about his love for Chichi. I know, I know, extreme character change, but at the same time, not really. If in the show he actually "understood" love, then if he truly loved Chichi, it might be something he would say if something like that ever came up. It took awhile to get it out, but I have a reason. I was reading comic books. I've turned into a serious geek. I bought 20 or so manga in Colorado, and I've been buying more and more since I've been back. I haven't caught up at all. Not only that, but I've downloaded the Hana Kimi manga, and I'm only on volume 7. weep... ;; It's not a good reason, but I never said it was. It'll probably be another week and a half to two weeks for the next chapter since I started classes yesterday, and I'm on the lookout for a __**second**__ job... oh, joy. And... and... well, I forgot. Oh! Sorry the end seemed so rushed. After 'they know how to speak to please a man...' it just went down hill. I wanted to make the conversation between Vegeta and the other man a bit more in depth, but who the hell care? He's not an important character, anyway. _

_About the song... yeah... I think I have a song fetish. I put songs in almost everything I write. In fact, the chapter titles of the rest of the story will be song titles, or song lyric. I'll try to put in the artist and song name of the song here at the end... if I remember. As for this chapter title, as simple and stupid as it is, I don't remember what it's from. It can be from anything 'cause it's random and cliche, but whatever... the lyrics used in this chapter is from 18__th__ Floor Balcony by Blue October. I'll be using them again, btw. If you haven't heard the song, then go! Listen! It's one of my favorite songs. _

_Disclaimer: Dragonball Z, and characters, so NOT mine._

**18****th**** Floor Balcony **© **Blue October**.

_Please read and review!__ (More reviews higher self esteem better chapters. _


	10. Chapter VIII Evil Angel

Warning: Chapter contains _Adult Content_.

--

**She's a working girl, selling her company to make ends meet, never reaching that nirvana of accomplishment.**

**He is a man of influence that studies and trains to be better than he is, in turn, bettering his people and their planet. **

**Together they will inadvertently create the change their world so desperately yearns for, and release their kind from under the slavery and persuasive strength of alien forces.**

--

**Jaded Pill**

Chapter VIII. Evil Angel.

Her delicate hand landed softly on the outside of the heavy and simple door. As she listened to the noise echo through the empty hall, she noted how discreet and uninviting the entry appeared. The slab of metal and machine in front of her was astonishingly out-of-place amongst the delicate ornamentation of the rest of the palace. So much so that it almost felt inappropriate.

The door shuttered open with indicated speed as it pocketed itself in between the wall. There, standing in front of her, was a regal and nearly flawless man. His hair shot out in a halo of black fire above his head, stretching away from his onyx eyes. His face was stern, but not entirely uninviting. He wore casual clothing, a much different sight than earlier in the evening. His thick body attacked the seams of his shirt, as the fabric stretched across his chest and back. His arms were folded across his broad chest, and the 'v' of his shirt eagerly revealed a distinguished neck as it traced down. Despite his short height, he appeared statuesque. Exactly what you'd expect from a prince.

"Good. You've come," he said, his voice deep and alluring. "Please, come in." He stepped to the side for her to enter, his eyes capturing her own as she walked passed.

She didn't say anything, she only stood there, waiting for something to be said, something to be done. The room around her was wide, and the floor-to-ceiling windows arched out to the ocean that lay on the horizon. It seemed as if the windows themselves were straining to reach the labored waters in the distance. The room, even though strictly resigned for the royal heir, was notably unembellished. The ceiling, though high, was unadorned, except for the carved crown molding that hugged at the corners. The walls were draped with taught fabric, the simple wall sconces around the room lighting the stitched pattern on the dark green cloth. The room was dim, the lights lining the walls like fire in a cave, dancing and blending generously with the light of table lamps. There was a mantled fireplace on the far wall, above it, a painting of himself posed in traditional noble regalia.

"I didn't think Baini would allow you to come, even if it were a request from myself. She may be a whore, but she's very insistent on following guidelines," he said, the sound of the door shutting a faint noise in the background.

"She argued it, but ultimately it was my decision" she spoke into the air, turning around only slightly to catch a glance of the man that insisted on her presence.

He came up behind her and she could feel his hot breath as it casually brushed her exposed shoulders. His fingers traced the middle of her back, inching down until his palm came to rest on her lower back. "This way," he said as he walked her to a long, dark table, five high back chairs situated around it in a comforting display of false unity. "Please, take a seat."

She sat in the chair he had pulled out for her, the stitching on the cushion rough under her palms. Her nails discreetly traced along the carved frame of the chair, finding the polished wood a welcoming feeling. On the table top in front of her sat two silver kettles, stark and simple, a current of steam rising out of the mouths of both of them. Sitting comfortably around them were two cups, a small sugar bowl, and a delicate pitcher of cream.

"Coffee, or tea?" he asked, standing next to the table, his right hand limply situated on the handle of one of them.

"Tea, please. But if you'll indulge a poor girls wondering, what is coffee?"

"Oh, that's right..." he paused, "coffee is a foreign delicacy among the aristocratic. It was discovered on a distant, low-ranking planet several years ago, and since then, Frieza has insisted it become a noble staple in universal elite." He handed her the cup of coffee he had just poured for himself. "Here, why don't you try it."

"Oh no, I shouldn't."

"I insist. Please."

She reluctantly reached her hand up to his, her fingers brushing faintly against his own as she took the cup from his hand. The cup was warm to the touch, and her chilled hands struggled against the resisting heat. She glanced down into the heavy liquid, and a foggy, filthy image of herself staring up at her. She shifted her gaze up to the man standing before her, a quiet smirk playing at his lips. She brought the painted porcelain to her mouth, taking in the bitter odor. Wary of the hot liquid, she took a sip, an immediate discomfort and soreness taking over her tongue and the roof of her mouth. The acrid taste was thick and oppressive, abusing her senses.

"I suppose I forgot to mention it's a little strong. It takes a while to get used to it," the prince said, a simple hint of amusement toying with his words.

"I suppose it does," she spoke softly as her hair kissed her cheeks, concealing her fallen gaze behind a veil of embarrassment. She reached forward and settled back with her cup of tea. Instead of sipping at her drink, she took in the sweet smell, relaxing against the hard back of the chair.

He was hypnotized by her regular and common movements. These simple gestures were used by even the most powerful of men, but the way she gracefully moved trapped his eyes in a binding and threatening prison. Her long, slender arms were bare, and her milky-white skin beckoned the light of the room. Her eyes, though hidden by lashes and bangs, flickered like the stars in the sky.

She sat across from him with a hushed and reposeful interest in what was around her, or where she was. Despite his own animosity for soliciting sex from a woman of the palace, he still couldn't escape the stories that were told. These convictions revealed with great candor the enthusiasm and zeal the women often brazenly illustrated. He wasn't so naive as to think all women would be equally eager, but he wasn't so un-thinking to know that every woman, prostitute or not, would fight to the death as to sleep with the crown prince.

"I'm afraid I have to apologize," he said, breaking the overbearing silence.

"For what?" she asked, the tug of his voice bringing her back to the reality she was in. Outwardly she masked the overwhelming sensation she had. Inside, she felt her stomach pound against her chest and her breath stop short of her throat. This unknown sensation gripped her mind, and her body responded.

"It's not often I admit faults, especially when they are my own, but I have to be honest with you: I haven't done anything this out of character before," he said politely, and truthfully. He couldn't explain why, but he felt the unrelenting necessity to explain himself to her.

She felt her cheeks flush with the unexpected confession. She didn't quiet know what to do, or say in response. She thought for a moment, her blue eyes staring back at her from her tea. She brushed the delicate etchings of the cup, her fingernails tapping the porcelain in a chiming rhythm. "I'm afraid I don't know what to say. On one hand, there's a certain pride at being the first you have called upon. On the other, there's a lingering guilt for the same reason." She didn't know if it was the appropriate thing to say to the man before her, given his stature and nobility, but she couldn't deny what she had said. There was an undeniable satisfaction to be the first, but an unbearable responsibility. This was a man of twenty-four years of age, so she knew that he had to have been experienced in certain goings on, but to be the first for _him_ to call upon weighed heavily. She had to be perfect, but at what, she didn't know. She never had to be the one to initiate anything, let alone do much of anything else. She'd lie there, and that was enough.

"Yes, well, it's a double-edge sword, I suppose. But you needn't worry about it," he spoke, his strong, husky voice melodically embracing the open, ventilated air. "You shouldn't have to feel any responsibility toward yourself, me, or anyone else."

It was only a few words, a couple of blended, half-hearted statements, but the way he said them seemed to suit him well. He spoke like a prince; like someone who would soon rule an entire people. He didn't look at her in the eyes; instead his eyes were hidden, his lashes shadowing the rings of stress under his eyes. His long fingers picked at imaginary strings clinging to his pants, while the other hand lazily gripped at the handle of his own cup as it sat stiffly on the table top. His body was graciously bathed in the light of the moon, and Bulma swallowed in the sight. To her, it was as if she were staring at a living painting: his chest rose and fell with each deep breath, his strong hands gesturing her in come-hither silence. She felt her body respond, and as she shifted in her seat, she noticed his eyes fixed on her from behind hooded lashes.

"I appreciate you reassuring me and my worries, but I'm afraid it doesn't change the way I feel toward the situation. It's almost as if," she paused, not really sure what she was doing. "It's almost as if I'm overstepping my bounds, in a way." She was embarrassed, and a little ashamed.

He listened to her words, and they washed over him in a flood of expression. This woman came to the palace due to the lucky card she had been dealt given the circumstances, but she was, and still is an impoverished whore. The way she spoke, though, impressed him. Despite her meager background, she achieved a certain magnificent execution of words, as if she were taught her whole life, as he was, to speak brilliantly and without hesitation.

He smiled to himself. He took in a deep and heavy breath, letting it out slowly as his eyes found hers. "You know," he started, "physical appearance is the first thing anybody really notices. Beauty is as common as money can be for the rich. But the beauty you possess? It's the kind artists strive their entire lives to create," he spoke softly, his words filling the room in a cloud of acceptance, as if recognizing there was no turning back from where they were. He stood up from his chair and walked around the back of hers, his fingers tracing the top of the wood backing, catching a fleeting brush of hair. "When I first saw you this evening at the ball, I was speechless. It was a flicker of an instant, but it was an instant that I couldn't get out of my head. Until, that is, when I saw you at the _exhibition_." He said the last word with a leaking disdain that rolled from his tongue. "I couldn't take my eyes away from you." With that said, he bent in front of her, his mouth brushing tenderly against her bottom lip, and she responded graciously.

His full lips were warm and smooth across her own, and his hand sent a shiver of unexpected pleasure down her spine as he gripped the back of her neck. Her body responded to the dynamic movement of his thumb as it hesitantly, but voluntarily caressed the base of her neck. She leaned into the kiss, and their lips roughly danced together in perfect compliment. Her body trembled in exotic marvel as she was lifted from the chair and pressed against his solid and powerful body. His thick arms wrapped around her waist, while his hands roamed freely in the space between her shoulder blades and down her back. She, as if in free will and natural instinct, wrapped her arms up his back and latched her hands onto his broad shoulders.

He pressed her against his body; the warmth from her body embraced him. The smell of her hair as it clung to her cheeks drowned his senses in jasmine and mint. They were foreign weapons that no man had overcome, or so he assumed. The more his tongue played with hers, the more he wanted her. He wanted to see her withering with frail beauty beneath him. He longed, with unimaginable lust, to hear her cry out his name into the darkness. He needed to lose control in her scent, her sound, and her body. Without any further hesitation, or unwillingness, he ushered her body back against the edge of the hard table and lifted her just enough for her to sit on top of it. His lips never left hers as his hands expertly unhooked the taught fabric of her dress and let it fall to her lap. His fingers danced across her breasts as he made a path to her hips with his hands. He gripped her hips and pulled her to him, her legs spreading apart to allow their closeness.

She felt bewildered by how, with gentile force, he managed to make her melt at his touch and his taste. The warmth of his lips against hers sent a shiver down her spine. Her toes curled with each touch, and each lap of his tongue. She felt her nipples respond to the chilled air, but it wouldn't matter. In a matter of moments she was up against his hard chest, enraptured by the intense heat that surrounded them. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him even closer, if that were indeed possible.

He needed more of her. He needed to taste her skin, to feel her body, to experience her. His mouth pulled from hers and left a trail of sensual kisses across her cheek until he reached her neck. He licked at her salty skin while his hands began to feel at her naked breasts. He felt the sting of cold air rush against his back where her hands had been, noticing, with half-opened eyes, her palms scraping the surface of the table as her back arched with the stretch. With insufficient pressure, he guided her further onto the table, her back straightening upon touching the polished wood. He didn't look into her eyes, instead fixing his own on her more than ample breasts as they rose and fell with each pant. His thumbs traced the satin skin on either side of her bosom, his long fingers wrapping around her chest as his eyes traced every inch of exposed skin while it soaked in waves of moonlight. He devoured her with his eyes, and if he were a lesser man he would've been content with just that, but his eyes grew weary. His mouth found her breasts again and ravaged each nipple, soaking them with his tongue only to nip it away with his teeth. She twisted beneath him and he could feel her fingers as they clutched at his shirt, her gasping moans an undeniable sign of her ecstasy.

She attempted to smother her sounds of assured satisfaction under a veil of labored breathing, her force of will defeated by his tongue as it made it's way past her taunted breasts and down the trail of her stomach. She never knew, after the years of unguaranteed pleasure, that she would be as sensitive to a series of garnered affections, no matter how distorted they may be. She whimpered as a way to restrain herself in response to the row of kisses he left along the aching skin just above her most woman of parts, still concealed behind her dress as it continued to cling to her hips.

He propped himself up on fisted hands, deciding, as if suddenly, that only the vision of her delicate face revealing the perception of her enraptured body could make him content with his decision to continue this endeavor. He hadn't been fighting with himself about his sudden alter of character, but he yearned for reassurance. He assumed she could feel his eyes consuming her because slowly, with reservation, her eyes opened, revealing their measureless depths and he knew, with little doubt, that if given the time he could get lost within them. He was ever conscious of her eyes digging into him, as if searching him instead of staring through him, as so many do. He had little idea of how long they held each other's gaze, noting with mild interest, however, that their labored breathing had finally caught up.

She stared up at him, her rested breath expelling in stiff, hollow sighs. Her arms stretched above her head, her hands creating a loose halo of intertwining fingers. Her back was still flat against the table top, her skin sticking to the polish in strained comfort. She desired more of him and noticed with unconscious interest that her legs, still wrapped around his waist, tightened their hold, bringing his hips to her own in natural urgency. She desperately fought the urge to grab him by the collar and kiss him hopelessly into submission. To take control in a situation such as this could bring her more harm than good, but the heat and tenderness between her thighs demanded attention, surprising herself into willful conviction of courage. She sat herself up slowly, her eyes never leaving his as he followed suit, backing away from her.

He stood in front of her, her legs latched at the ankles behind his back, her bare chest grazing the thin fabric of his shirt. His breathing had caught when she began to sit up, a series of thoughts pouring through his mind. Is she no longer interested in where this was going? Maybe he held off for too long, allowing himself the freedom to roam the depths of her eyes. But she wouldn't leave; she couldn't. Palace law states that if a woman of the harem is to leave before the deed has been committed, without the consent of the desiring company that is, than it was punishable by severe lashings, leading up to the dismissal from the court's patronage. He wouldn't stop her, however, if she desired to leave. He struggled enough with his own decision to call on her in the first place, so it would benefit him in his pursuit of his truest character if she were to leave now. He knew with absolute certainty that if she were to stay, he would not deny himself the pleasure of such a transgression of morality. He absently ran his hands along her rounded hips, shifting only slight in her hold of him and breaking the stare they had held for so long, only to watch with mesmerizing interest as his fingertips traveled the length of her thigh.

She watched his hand as it danced in circles on her skin, noting for the first time that his hands weren't nearly as calloused as a fighter's should be. She glanced up at his profile from behind disguising lashes and found the hardened lines of his jaw created a regal base for his face, and his sharp nose and bordering eyes designed a stoical embrace of his aristocracy. She let her eyes wander further down, tracing the thick outlines of his neck and shoulders. Her mind was lost to herself, no longer available for consult, or to bring her back to the reality she was in. She lifted her hand slowly, raking her fingertips along the defines of muscle wrapping around the length of his arm. She caught another glimpse of his face, his eyes still posed on his own movements. On instinct alone her hand graciously moved from his detailed arm to his broad chest, her palm pressing firmly against the hidden lines of his torso. She no longer found distorted curiosity in if he noticed her hands on him, or not, allowing both hands to roam freely along the length of his chiseled stomach. Her fingers twisted into the seams at the bottom of his shirt, only to lace themselves beneath the soft fabric and hide between the folds. His skin was pulled tight over distinguishable muscle, and her fingertips soaked up the curved definitions. When she finally stole a glance at his face, his eyes were boring into her with lustful appreciation. Her mind, in a swift return to consciousness, took control of her actions once more, and with embarrassed movement she removed her hands from his skin and set them to her side, her eyes hiding themselves behind long lashes.

He was surprised to feel her hands as they traveled their way down his chest, a tension building up in every inch she touched. When her hands discovered his skin, however, his stomach began to beat with the intensity a heart would. He stared at her with lewd eyes, his arousal obvious with a simple a glimpse. Her eyes held the same amorous affect as his own, and he drank in the fleeting look she studied him with. When she did steal her eyes away from her movements, he noticed the reservations return, as if what she were doing was unsuitable. He couldn't stand it. He ripped his shirt from his body, and in an equally swift movement removed the rest of her dress, not shredding an inch of fabric. He ravaged her lips with his own, pulling her naked body to his bare chest, the intoxicating aroma of their blending scents sending his senses into a whirlwind. He felt as her palms found their way to his skin once again, her nails expertly tracing up his spine, sending a shockwave through his body. He needed her. All doubts he had about this bizarre request flew away from his often rational mind, but the irresistible need for her overpowered every inch of his being. He could feel her fingers play at the band of his pants, and to ease his constriction he ripped his pants from his body, never taking his lips from hers.

She gasped for air when, after readjusting her hips, he thrust his thick, hard manhood into her with one swift movement. With unrestrained actions, he continued to move in and out of her, and her hips willingly moved to allow each push. She moaned into the night as her nails dug into his skin, arching her back only slightly to urge him. She bit her bottom lip to stifle an outcry of pleasure as he licked and nibbled at the tender skin of her breasts. She could feel her body tighten as he slowed his pace for a moment, only to quicken up to a less then demanding speed than before. Her toes curled as it continued at a steady pace, and her fingers raked into his thick hair. In response to her, he looked into her eyes and she stared directly into his, losing herself in their dark and heavy depths. He kissed her again, less urgent then he had the times before, and she felt as a form of sensuality wash over her body, only adding to the feeling that was building up below her stomach. She began to roll her hips forward, an irresistible impulse she had to motivate him to slow down, somehow knowing her climax was inching closer.

Their audible moans and fatigued pants filled the air, circling in the night and taunting their senses. Their sweat bathed them in the other's scent, their bodies illuminated in the moonlight as it bounced off the polish of the table. The forgotten cups of liquid pulsed with each movement, kissing the edges of the table in an unstable fight not to fall. A final cry shook the empty night, and the ghosts of displaced pleasure lingered in the corners of the main living quarter. Her fingers carelessly clung to his triceps as her chest heaved to catch up with her spent body. He hovered above her, propping himself up on weakened arms, his breathing as labored as hers. They took notice of each other's moisture-covered bodies and it seemed as if the heavy beads of sweat were eagerly attempting to wash away the gratification they had both experienced. With fervent vitality they attacked each other again, as if their exhaustion was an illusion brought on by the elements that surrounded and covered them.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_Author's Note: _O.o;;_ This chapter was a long time coming, huh? Heh, heh heh... heh? I know, I'm sorry!! I really, really am! But apparently 60-hour work weeks can exhaust someone to the point of no creativity! He-ay! I hadn't heard that one... Anyway, it's finally out, and woop-de-doo, chapter 9 is DONE!! But I'm done promising 'cause when I promise I end up not doing it... for, like, almost a year. I will say, though, that I have no intention of letting it go that long again. I'm going up to Alaska to work this summer, so I'm hoping I can work on it bit-by-bit, in between work and play, of course. I didn't mean to let it sit there for... well, forever. I'm not gonna say that I __**didn't**__ work on this chapter during that short hiatus, but everything I wrote I hated. I blame it on lack of creativity, of course. I've been on the road with my parents for two days now, which has given me every reason to escape into my head. It's a long chapter, or so it seems to me, but I'm hoping it makes up for not bein' around for awhile. Alright, enough of that... what you think?? Huh? They finally got their e-er e-er on! Get it? ... yeah, I'm lame. Oh, and I know, Vegeta is a little out-of-character, but you can't deny that Bulma is totally OoC. You're gonna have to deal with it. It's my story, anyway. Besides, I always liked to pretend that Vegeta was a completely different person behind closed-_closed _doors. You know, behind doors where no one, _no one, _would find out about a semi-true self. But that's the wistful DBZ nerd living in me. Yup, yup, enjoy. And believe me when I say that this story is only gonna get better. This is a promise I _know _will come to fruition. La._

_Chapter Title influenced from Breaking Benjamin's song by the same name: _Evil Angel. _Around the time of the last chapter I was really into them, and I still am, but I was so into that I went to OKC to see them in concert with Three Days Grace and Seether. I love all of 'em._

_Disclaimer: No ownage of nothin'. _


	11. Chapter IX The Break of Dawn

--

**She's a working girl, selling her company to make ends meet, never reaching that nirvana of accomplishment.**

**He is a man of influence that studies and trains to be better than he is, in turn, bettering his people and their planet. **

**Together they will inadvertently create the change their world so desperately yearns for, and release their kind from under the slavery and persuasive strength of alien forces.**

--

**Jaded Pill**

Chapter IX. The Break of Dawn.

Her eyes fluttered open to the image of a distant grey sky stretching out from the white sheets of the unfamiliar bed. She blinked the sleep away from her eyes, sliding further into the down of the bedding as it wrapped her body in alien comfort. She allowed herself a moment of peace beneath the blankets, stretching her body along the length of the large bed as a feigned, silent noise of relief escaped from the back of her throat. The first hint of the early morning sun kissed the horizon and played on the far-off oceans, dancing along the water's edge and climbing the silhouetted mountains. She was so mesmerized by the simplicity of it's nature that the sound of footsteps approaching were distant, and ignored. She was pulled away from the sight when a thought had finally hit her: it's sunrise. Her breath stopped short, her eyes dragging along the floor in a display of guilt.

"Something the matter?" a voice broke through, the thick and heavy tone cracking away at her thoughts.

She looked up at the man she had spent the better part of the night with, noting how his face seemed much softer in the brilliance of the bland and simple colors of the room. His eyes were dark and empty, and a scowl graced his small lips. Nothing about his appearance in face and body, however, screamed the annoyance most people would assume. Bulma struggled with the words as her mind clouded over with images of the night before: the gripping of his hands around her thighs; the scratching and grabbing of her hands along the length of his flushed back; the consuming intensity of his stare as it dug into her entire being. "It's sunrise. I," she paused, flustered from the look he gave her, "I have to get back."

"You don't have to worry, you know," he said, watching as she climbed out of his bed, her bare feet barely touching the stained wood of the floor as the she rushed passed him, catching her eyes with his in the briefest of seconds. He followed her floundering movements with sharp interest. Despite how scattered and awkward they were, she still managed to move with stiff grace. He moved toward her as she began to slide the disregarded dress up her milky thighs and over her defined hips. His fingers reached out in mindless happening and assisted in hooking her into her dress, her hands carelessly cupping into his with surprise.

In her haste she forgot about the only other person she shared the room with and was no longer cognizant of her surroundings. She berated herself for allowing to be swept away into the overwhelming binds of passion and ignoring the rules she, as a woman of the harem, had to follow. How could she do something so intolerably out-of-character, and something so juvenile as breaking the rules? She was knocked from her revery by a clothed hand as it clasped around the hooks of her dress. She stopped her movements and for a moment watched his own, until finally glancing up to his face. His eyes were burning into her as he worked, causing her breathing to come in short, stalled breaths.

"Don't worry about Baini," he said after finishing with their silent distraction, "I'll take care of her." His gloved fingers traveled over her bare shoulder, twisting into the end of her hair as it lay haplessly against her skin. "I'll make sure," he started again as he stepped into her body and let his lips brush the lobe of her ear, "to not be so careless next time."

She felt the shiver run down her spine as his hot breath caressed her exposed neck, and they lingered in that spot a moment longer, their bodies blending in the fondling light of the rising sun. She reached a hand to his forearm, stealing a glance at his face as she shifted in his presence. He was looking at her with the same look, as if they were both watching to see if the other was regarding them with shifting, nervous, wanting eyes. She averted her eyes quickly, knowing if she continued to stare she would lose more of her own precious time. That's when, for the first time, she noticed the sealed letter in his hand, and that's when he broke the hold.

"Come," he said, moving away from her body and his hand sliding away from her hair. "We don't want to waste any more time." He loosely took her wrist in his hand and led her to the door she had entered the night before. It slid into it's pocket once again and they both stepped through the thresh hold. They steadfastly walked down the brightly lit hall until a small man in servants clothes came into view. "You can get there from here; I'm sure you know the way. Hurry, but don't run through the palace. It'll only waste more time." He watched as she bowed low to him, a gesture of her servitude. His eyes were fixed on her retreating perfection, even as he stopped the cleaning servant.

"Your majesty," he said and bowed on shaky legs.

"Take this," the prince started, holding up the sealed letter to the other mans face, "to Baini. Do not inform her of who it is from; she'll find out as she reads. Use any means necessary to get there before," he held up his other hand and pointed to the retreating woman, "her. Do you understand?" The man nodded soundlessly, his body still hunched in subservience. "Good. Go." The servant snatched the letter from the his hand and rushed down the hall, disappearing behind a decorative tapestry that hung limply on the wall.

- - - - - -

Baini stood at the doorway of her office-room, glaring over her steadfast ladies, many of whom were sleeping silently in separate corners of the room. She was seething in her lividity, fiercely digging her nails into her skin to keep from attacking the closest woman to her. She stared directly at Chichi, a notable confidant to the woman whom her rage was firmly aimed, as she shifted her sight between her lap and the door.

A light tapping came from behind her, the sound of knuckle hitting wood breaking her hold. She hesitated. Did she really want to know who, or what it was, or did she want to continue to lather herself in her broken authority? The rapping came again, a bit louder and far more urgent than before. She sneered as she hoisted her body from the open frame, turning on the hidden door with malice.

"What!" she shouted as she opened the disguised door, noting with sour spite that she didn't recognize him, other than his uniform. The man held a letter to her face, bowing with a desperate yearning to leave. Without hesitating she grabbed the letter from his hand, immediately shutting the door without saying a word. She turned the letter over in her hand and noticed the symbol of the royal heir on the seal, a sudden stab of curiosity overwhelming her thoughts. Why would she be getting a letter from the prince at this time of the morning? At that moment, before she could break the seal, a quiet humming rose from the women's living quarters and the muted click of a door closing an undeniable sign of what had captured the attention of the room.

She walked to the thresh hold of her door, the malevolent glare returning to her features as she saw the object of her indignation standing there. "Bulma!" she yelled, her outrage undeniable as her voice bellowed over the women's gossip from her perch. She could feel the other women eyeing her, but it didn't matter what they wanted to say, or do; her mind was directly set on the woman with an unexampled presence and stretched privileges. Baini stared carefully at Bulma, her fingers gripping at the letter she still held in her hand, a disquieted impression that the letter had something to do with her. "In here, now!" She continued to watch Bulma when she, without hesitation, or noticeable anxiety, turned in her direction and began the walk up to her door, eyes set firmly ahead of her. Shifting to the side, Baini allowed the other woman to enter, shutting the door immediately after her.

A minute passed between them without anything being said, or done, and the only noise was the muted buzz from the women in the next room. Baini stood at the door, dragging her eyes over the other woman's shapely body, catching glimpses of the reflex of muscle under the skin of her revealed calves and bare arms. She registered, with some surprise to herself, that this woman before her, despite the expected hardships she had while growing up, stood with an amazing and prominent quality of being with her head held high, her chin level with the floor with elegant exhibition. "Sit," she said, finally breaking the silence as she circled around her desk, a gift given to her by the King himself when she was given the title of Hostess. She had intended to give the fresh woman that now sat in front of her a few good lashings, until the unexpected surprise from the Prince.

She gently peeled the seal from the envelope, removing the letter from it with delicate handling. She read it carefully and as quickly as she could:

_To Ms. Baini, the Keeper of the Ladies of the Palace;_

_Through this short note I convey to you my deepest appreciation for permitting _

_your newest, and certainly the most radiant of your young charges to enter my _

_chambers on such a festive occasion. I understand that it goes well beyond the _

_extensions of the practice that has been expected by you, and by His Majesty, _

_the King. I understand, as well, that the young woman shall be arriving back to _

_you at an unprecedented and unacceptable time. I do, however, wish to see this _

_woman in my rooms again through the time that I remain on-planet, and I do _

_not want her to be punished for what was, and will remain to be primarily my _

_inexcusable act. I give you my word of honor that it shall not happen again while _

_she is in my honored presence. _

_I request of her this evening, and the following night, as well. Expect my delicate_

_and subtle patronage while she is in your care. _

_Thank you._

_Your Honorable Crown Prince,_

_Vegeta_

Baini sat in a stunned silence, her mouth agape as she processed what she had read. The prince, though an imposing and nearly menacing presence due to his close servitude under Emperor Freiza, was an equally humble man. He was never one to visibly assist the poorest members, or the sickest fighters of the planet, but from his perch of royalty and his unquestionable knowledge of the government, he slowly made small progress for those that he could. And now, this man that stood so steadfastly on his morals and unwavering contempt for such vulgar rituals was calling upon one of her women for a second time, and apologizing on her behalf. One night seemed more than enough to bend any personal restraints he has set upon himself, but a continuing venture to challenge and control his original abhorrences seemed so farfetched that she nearly doubted it was the Prince's desire to begin with, and not some elaborate joke being played on her.

She sighed, setting the letter down atop the opened envelope and rubbing her temples to sooth her questioning mind. It was not her place to question, however, nor was it her place to go against a request because of her wavering skepticism. She decided, in the best interest of all parties involved, to give in. She, in her position of insignificant power, would send Bulma, a woman with noauthority at all, to a man that has more influence over the people than, dare she say, the King himself.

"Bulma," she finally said as she folded her hands in front of her and hunched over herself. "As determined as I was to punish you, and with great severity the moment you walked through those doors, I cannot, in good conscience, go against a powerful figurehead's request." She glanced at the woman in front of her and was nearly surprised with the humility that graced her features. She sat with her hands on her lap, her ankles crossed under her, and her eyes shadowed behind long bangs. "You have been requested by the crown prince, His Royal Highness Prince Vegeta, for tonight and the following night as well. Be wary, however, that though I do not have the power to go against a formal request such as that, I do have the power to penalize you. You shall be back in the main room before sunrise. This is your only warning; do not expect this type of leniency a second time. Is that understood?"

Bulma nodded, mute and stiff.

"Good. Now go."Baini watched with an unwavering sternness in her eyes as Bulma stood up from the chair, bowed, and left. Baini, although inclined to call her back and congratulate her on her looks, as it was obvious that was what drew the Prince to her, held her tongue and instead sat back in her chair and heaved a long and heavy sigh.

- - - - - - - -

_Author's Note: I love how we're seeing little nuances of Bulma's character. She's not as distant as she comes off to be. She has a neurotic part of her that doesn't want to break the rules; she doesn't want to do anything that'll get her in trouble. Anyway, I'm really worried about the next chapter. I've managed to finish two within a week, which is great, but I knew what was going to happen. I have the major parts of the rest of the story figured out. It's all those little moments in between that have me confused on what to do. Like, the next chapter, I have NO idea of what's going to happen. I'll figure something out, something equally as good as this. And equally as good as the last chapter, but not quite as juicy. Yum, yum. _)

_Chapter title influence by _Kamelot_'s "_A Sailorman's Hymn_." _

_Disclaimer: Nope. My hands are clean. I don't own anything. _


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